Squeaky and Friends

100 Pictures of a Duck named Squeaky

My Name Is Squeaky

My Name Is Squeaky

I stepped outside to bring Squeaky the Duck, in from the rain, the ground was wet and the sun had gone down. A young couple was walking up the street beside my yard, the man asked, “How’s the duck?” and before I could answer the young lady with him asked, “You have a duck?”
“Ya, do you want to meet her?” I said as I waved them into the yard. The pathway was dark, I could barely see their faces until they were next to me, so they hadn’t noticed Squeaky. I stepped off the stair toward a large dog cage in the yard that housed the duck. The young lady was happily surprised when she realized there was a duck just 4 feet in front of her.

The young man, in his late 20’s, belonged to the house behind that towered over my back yard. I knew the guys living in that house could see my back yard. And I knew that they could hear Squeaky quack, often from 4 am on, until I bring her inside. I apologized for her behavior. But the young man and his room mates didn’t seem to mind. In fact they enjoyed Squeaky’s company, for they believed she was quacking in communication to them. They also, had named her, Einstein, because of her feathered tiara.

I was enjoying the exchange with the neighbors, until the giggly, young blond, hanging dearly to the arm of her man, asked me,” Are you a hippy or somethin’?”

“Uumm?” “No, If I were a hippy, I’d be nearly 70 years old, wouldn’t I?” “I’m more like a witch, I have a natural ability taming animals.”

Her boyfriend, knew she insulted me. I handed her one of Squeaky’s duck eggs, smiled and watched him gently tug her arm as he led her out of my yard and back down to the road.

2 comments on “My Name Is Squeaky

  1. karenleahansen
    November 21, 2013

    I love your ducky. I have to tell you, if my neighbor had a duck, the noise would never bother me. I would just want to have one of my own!


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This entry was posted on November 21, 2013 by in Children's Literature and tagged , , , , , , , , , .
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