It really is sun-day today, and a well appreciated cool one at that. The severe thunderstorm that jettisoned across the Toronto skyline on Friday evening delivered another Metallica concert and a welcome humidity break with a 10℃ (18℉) drop in temperature.
It’s about time! My Cousin Itt gene (see Secrets In The Shower) has expressed itself a little too flamboyantly this past heat wave. The condo is also back down to a respectable 27℃ (80.6℉) and dropping, making it suitable to wear clothing again to my voyeuristic neighbour’s delight I am sure.
Apparently cats and dogs aren’t the only creatures that fall from the sky in stormy weather these days. A cool breeze off the lake teases my Tina Turner coiffed dancing poodle with the scent of a duck landing. Lola rings the “Gotta-go” bell and we’re off to investigate.
The pace is brisk. As we approach the tracks, I double-check Lola’s harness (always Go With Your Duck) and remind her to stay close, which she promptly ignores with a I’m-not-a-puppy-anymore huff and lady-like strut. Her mission is clear. She senses some fowl play ahead so a little confident posturing is in order.
After a quick stop to smell some roses, we pick up the pace towards Coronation park. The off-leash zone is curiously empty and the park is deserted.
Lola tilts her head in the direction of a faint flapping sound in the harbor then sits. The flapping stops. Only the sound of Lola’s tail hitting the pavement remains. We strain to spy something moving by the water’s edge, but see nothing.
All of a sudden, Lola’s nose does an impression of Elizabeth Montgomery on steroids. She tracks the scent to the protective railing at the waterfront, but still nothing. False alarm. “There will be no ducks on the menu tonight I’m afraid. Let’s go home, Lola.”
After some unappreciated motherly coaxing, Lola finally acquiesces and we head back for dinner.
Meanwhile, the floating “wing-ada” pasted against the retaining wall return to their offshore drills. The mighty ducks weren’t quite ready to reveal themselves yet.
Eech! It’s almost midnight and I haven’t finished today’s post. I completely lost track of time working on the WomanNotWaiting strategy that I even forgot to eat dinner. Don’t call puppy protection services on me though. I of course fed Lola, took her out for her pre-bedtime stroll, gave her a quick brush, and tucked her in with Bunny.
If I don’t take care of my precious little girl she’ll feel neglected, unloved, her kind spirit will shrivel up, and she won’t thrive.
Back to the blog…
…Oh I’m going to pass out if I don’t eat something, but if I grab something my computer will turn into a pumpkin (hey! Then I can eat that). Woman! My bladder is going to explode too.
Is my blood sugar so low that I am hearing things? OK. 5 minutes for a pit stop and some maple syrup on a frozen rice bun. I can still make it as long as the syrup doesn’t gum up the…Phew! Caught that in time…and a bit on my chin right—
What was that? Lola is still sleeping. Hmmm. I am sure I felt something brush my chin but—
A golden egg? Now I’m really losing it. Oh no! It’s after midnight and I’m not done.
Whoa! Did Lola put on a Halloween costume? That is one big bird. The poodle-sized waddler planted on my feet on the ottoman in front of me lifts her wing and gently wipes my chin off with her feather-tips. She licks the syrup-tainted feather.
“Qqqq. Qua-Quack,” she quacks as she nods in approval. “Qua-qua-Quack?”
“Yes. Organic. And in a glass bottle too,” I reply as I strain to keep my eyes open.
If I’m not hallucinating I do believe this is another duck from the Gangnam procession (see The Ducks Are Quacking). She must have followed us home from the park this afternoon and hid in my bathtub, which would explain why Lola kept trying to sneak in there all evening.
So now what? I have 2-Ton-Tessie here squashing my toes, staring me down with her wings on her hips. The last duck was a little more graceful at least (see Just Keep on Plucking). I’ll deal with this one later. Right now I have work to do. Yawn.
My tablet goes flying and Big Duck hops onto my thighs. She wags her right wing at me.
“Quack Quack QUACK!”
Lola bolts from the couch and runs to her tent bed. My jaw drops and my eyes pop out. I finally notice the blue gingham apron across this persistent feathered matriarch’s chest.
It’s the Mama Duck!
She lifts my chin with her beak trying to make sure I don’t pass out from exhaustion and has a beak-to-nose quack with me, which I’m too zonked to translate, but it ends with: “The egg will be ready for breakfast, now you get some rest, sweetheart. I’ll be right here if you need me.” She tucks me in and caresses my forehead with her beak. “Qua Quack.”
And the lights go out.
Crick-crick-crick goes my alarm. What a bizarre dream!
I remember I haven’t finished yesterday’s post so I rush to my tablet while Lola hits the snooze button and yawns. Odd. She’s usually starving by this time. Oh well, no time to eat myself. Back to work.
I’m just about to grab the tablet when I notice a HUGE, and I mean HUGE golden egg taking up half the couch. I reach over to it but it cracks just as my hand hovers over it. Lola burps and a feather floats out of her tent.
The room fills with a bright misty glow and thousands of little cherub archers stream out of the egg. The arrows start to fly.
Ouch! Ouch! And triple-ouch!
I run from one end of the condo to the next. No luck. I try to swat them away but they’re speedy little gnats. Then their mischief hits me. I stumble onto the couch, completely oblivious to the self-imposed stress I conjure up for myself, and lie there smiling, bright-eyed, and totally relaxed.
The arrows were dowsed in love potion number 9. Sweet!
The lead cupid signals the others back to the egg and after a few seconds they emerge with massage oils, luffas, essential oils, big fluffy towels, foot creams, a berry and chocolate buffet, a romantic ocean hut complete with concierge service (I’m drugged up remember), and work their magic.
After thousands of little hands pamper me for a good two hours, the leader flies back into the egg, retrieves a delicate scroll wrapped in a silk band, and drops it on my chest. I unroll it.
“We take care of what we deem precious.”
A thousand tiny kisses replenish my spirit and pouff! The little angels disappear. A tear rolls down my cheek.
Mama Duck sure does know best.
You too are precious. Take care of yourself first, then spread that love onto our home, Earth, and all her inhabitants.
I am not waiting for Mama Duck to keep reminding me anymore. And you?