It has suddenly become clear, that I am not responsible enough to manage animals.
After last week's episodes with felines and hormones, I thought that I'd spend the weekend blissfully at home. I would drink wine and smoke catnip and talk about Issues. You know, stuff that really matters like why my favorite hair care company has stopped making my favorite product and like, about how much I hate improvised explosive devices or something.
I should have done everything that I could have to stay away from animals. Instead, I went to the pet store. I picked up all the baby guinea pigs and thought about buying a friend for Wiggy. I held the bunnies and giggled at the fur growing between their toes. I even picked up the ferrets. I love ferrets, but I hate the way they smell. I wish that I was cute and funny enough that people would forget about how badly I can smell when I'm not properly groomed.
I exercised self control. Instead of buying a guinea pig or a bunny or a ferret, I purchased a cat leash and bird seed. I knew that the leash wasn't a good decision, but I couldn't resist. The cat in the photo on the package, was so damn cute. He was happy and proud of himself and he had such love in his eyes for his owner. I thought, "yes, that could be Hissy and me," and so I bought it. Hissy didn't appreciate the gesture. After losing most of the flesh on my hands and my entire left eyelid, I decided to return the leash. I am happy that the pet store accepts returns, even when they are covered in blood.
After a blood transfuion, I went to feed the ducks. Spending time with my ducks always makes me feel like a good person. They don't judge me. They don't care who I bring with me to feed them or if I come alone. They don't care if I dump out all the food away and walk away or if I stay or awhile and fawn over them. They never expect me to call in the morning. I like that about ducks.
When I got to the pond, the ducks were chasing each other. They were playing a version of duck tag that seemed to end in some kind of mounting game. Although, it looked like fun, I yelled. I waved my arms. I whistled. The ducks ignored me and humped in the mud. I shook the bag of seed. The ducks came running over. They smelled of sex and pond scum.
I guess I should have known that ducks have sex. I wasn't ready to see it.
Duck sex is not exactly romantic. It's mostly like eating a beakful of food and then chasing after the first chick you see. I have taught them nothing about dating. Sometimes, other ducks watch. They let people watch. No vodka. Two on one. No lube. Ducks, quite simply, do not care.
I gave them my blessing.
Then, I spent the rest of Sunday searching the internet for duck sex. If my computer is seized by the authorities anytime soon, I will probably be busted for animal porn.
Still, I can't hate on anyone having fun.
Go get 'em, chicks.