In The Style Of Richard Brautigan’s, Trout Fishing In America

Duck Fishing In the Brayford

I told them I needed to catch the bus so I was leaving early and then I came out here instead. It was dark already and not far away from the main university building. Usually I don’t stick around here because I am not a fan of the ducks, not the normal ducks so much, mainly the ones that look like miniature turkeys. Turkey Ducks. Ducks that have faces, like a turkey.

Anyway, I was watching one of these turkey ducks as it made its way down the edge of the shore. Through the longer strands of grass it went, stopping every now and then to peck at some hidden object, its turkey neck willy-waddling mid air. I wondered what it would feel like to have all that skin wafting about my face like a boat sail. I shook my head in time with the turkey duck. It stopped. The turkey duck looked at me like it knew I was watching and I quickly looked over my shoulder.

The next day I googled turkey duck, and found out that apparently they’re called Muscovy Ducks. Turkey duck is definitely better though, I thought. My home office was warm and as I typed I thought about how a turkey duck would type if it was able to sit at my desk. Do they have two fore-claws or three? Turkey ducks would have a problem spelling ‘pug’, it would be a stretch, unless it used its face to type too. I thought about my own typing and realised that it was rather erratic, not unlike a duck with a face of a turkey pecking around and searching for grub. Grub, for its wrinkly turkey duck face.

I caught sight of something out of the window from the corner of my eye, for a moment I panicked thinking maybe one of the turkey ducks had followed me home. Jumping up from my desk with the mouse still in my hand I wielded it over my head like a turkey duck smasher; but the offending turkey duck was only a mismatched white car with a red bonnet, stalling in the road. The driver spied me at the window and I quickly put down the mouse and opened the window.

“Sorry!” I shouted down ” I thought you were a Muscovy duck!” I said, using the proper name.

He wound down his window. “Oh” he said, “I’m not”.

“Good” I replied.

Then he drove his turkey duck car away.

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