I am the besotted owner of two very tame pet ducks, Peep and Tony and the more I think about them (which I do quite often), the more I see them as being like me. Dyspraxic ducks, now there’s a thought.
Graceful swans, cunning foxes, majestic eagles, nimble squirrels. Ducks on the other hand are clumsy. Peep and Tony waddle around in an ungainly, uncoordinated-looking manner barging their way through the undergrowth in the garden and tumbling over themselves in their enthusiasm to come greet me when I get home. Whilst I don’t demolish the garden rushing to empty the compost bin, if there’s a low branch I’ll bang my head on it, a tray of seedlings I’ll drop it or if there’s an obstacle on the lawn I’ll run over it. And then there’s the mess. Just as the ducks clumsily dive into their food leaving debris scattered around them, I have a similar problem with peas. During the winter months, Peep and Tony spend their entire time playing in muddy puddles, turning the ground around their pond into a quagmire and their bill’s are caked in mud. Whilst we generally avoid the mud, thanks to our unusual coordination, my son and I usually wear a little food or food-stain on our tops, have eternally dirty shoes and create a trail of clutter wherever we go. Then there's the drinks. By the time he reached secondary school the frequency with which my son spilled his drinks at dinnertime gradually reduced and is now on a par with mine. If anyone has a spillage, it’ll always be one of us, but the days of the regular mealtime tsunami are thankfully (hopefully) behind us. As are Peep and Tony.
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