Now that Seattle weather is arguably taking a turn for the better (crotchety curmudgeons like myself prefer the cold and the damp, dagnabit), my thoughts meander toward one of my few beloved outdoor activities, a pastoral pastime that comes as close to a spiritual event as heathens such as I ever experience. I am of course referring to duck-watching. Spending hours on a bench overlooking a pond, lagoon, or lake and observing waterfowl as they paddle to and fro, their little webbed feet pushing them along; or admiring the elegant plumage on their little duck fannies as they dunk their heads in the water in search of food (or so I assume, being no ornithologist). Hey, maybe they’re talking about us under there.
Despite duck-watching’s myriad charms, I find myself increasingly wistful for I fear that this glorious tradition will not be passed down to future generations, what with the pull of the Internet and its many enticements actively enslaving our brains, Shelf Talk topping the list. Luckily, I recently stumbled upon a book that may turn the tide and transform our attention-deficient progeny into connoisseurs of the Quack.
Two Dumb Ducks by Maxwell Eaton III is a picture book starring a plucky ducky duo named Carl and Steve. They love aluminum and socks and are forever being hassled by the Man for it, the Man in this instance being a bunch of bullying seagulls. Steve and Carl at first get frustrated but soon get revenge. (It’s like Kill Bill in that regard.) Their clever antics and infectious enthusiasm get my knees a-jumpin’ as I sit here in this cold dark cellar, eagerly anticipating my next arboretum visit.
Now I just need to find someone to read it to.
~ Michael S, University Branch
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