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Miley Cyrus has gone to the ducks, tweak it..twerk it

  • Saturday, February 8, 2014

Ok, so what do Miley Cyrus and ducks have in common? After observing people versus my pond this week, I conclude ďAFLAC-ing lotĒ.

I have a large pond just feet from my patio. What should be a relaxing time watching nature and wildlife has turned into a man-made fiasco right in front of my eyes.

It started about six weeks ago. A white duck that looks exactly like the Aflac duck has landed into a gag of Canada geese and adapted an identity crisis. He has a particular favorite pack of seven that he hangs with. They respect him, they love him and they let him guide them (seriously) all over that pond during the day.

But, when night falls they fly to their sleeping quarters and guess who stays in the pond by himself?

Nature knows itself. If it quacks like a duck and acts like a duck...you know the rest. But NO! Letís not let nature work it out the way it has since creation. In come the saviors, thatís right us...humans. The duck canít possibly live on its own could it? Letís rent a duck for a friend! So now I get to witness a duck release program.

Thatís right, a little Aflack duck is dropped off to be his friend. Someone to play with during the day and the evenings when the geese fly away. Something just doesnít feel right about it.

But, Mr. Aflac seems to love his new little white duck. They swim side by side all over the pond and he stopped his incessant honking for the geese to come back. For three days they brought the little duck to the pond. Mr. Aflac was sooooo happy! And then today. No release. He quacked and quacked and walked to the area where they would bring his friend and then he sat ever so quietly with his head tucked. He didnít resume his call for the geese, my first time to witness depressed duck behavior! Donít get me wrong, I am sure the big hearted people who released the duck had good intentions.

The snowball effect is evident in the behavior of the geese and breakdown of the eco system of the pond. I watch the flock being fed pounds of food every day, each thinking they are solely keeping them alive. I have personally seen 4-5 quart sized buckets of cracked corn fed to them every day by one sweet neighbor, the next comes with her empty ice cream quart container and feeds them unknowing they have just eaten and yet another bucket in the afternoon and all of this is in addition to numerous bags of old bread.

You can hardly see the pond water for the muck because what they would naturally eat turns to algae. This flock of geese has crapped enough to put a hole in the ozone layer over my house. First there were 7 geese. Last week there were over 50. Flyovers have left us grumbling as we get into our cars in the morning. Goose poop is no joke. Driveways are littered with excrement and feathers. Flocks of black birds have descended to eat the leftovers and caw incessantly. And letís donít forget, it is a pond. People fish , they lose their line and tackle. I have seen two geese with lures attached to their webbing.

I pulled my blinds and headed to the computer with my coffee. I can only bear to watch the geese in the morning now when they glide across the new blue horizon and touch down in the pond. Everything beyond that point is orchestrated.

I wiggled my mouse to wake up my computer. Miley Cyrus was all over the headlines. After hours of reviews and remarks, I fell prey to this headline. Miley shocks the world with her twerking performance on VMA. It took ten minutes for me to get the nerve to do a Google search on twerking. Afterwards I silently prayed that my computer would never be confiscated and it found on my search drive. We created the problem ourselves, so should we put on a shocked face when the source fed in excess creates poop?

Immediately Miley Cyrus popped into my mind. Miley Cyrus, what went wrong here. Letís go back a few years. 2006 to be exact. Hannah Montanna.

No, letís go back a little farther and show our innate ability to actually breed the illness. Billy Ray Cyrus...Achy Breaky Heart. A mullet to remember. ~Donít break my heart my achy breaky heart~ Lord, I still cringe when I hear the song and every man I know that had a mullet is trying to forget about it.

We opened our wallets and drove that ridiculous song to damn near an anthem in the US. We made a rich man out of Billy Ray Cyrus from Flatwoods, Kentucky. I have absolutely nothing against wealth, but I like to think I know the difference between a fad and talent. But darnit, I did it again. When my granddaughters were little, I bought them Miley Cyrus clothes, pens, pocket books, accessories and bookbags. I have twinges of guilt about that today.

Now I stick with classic character gifts, i.e. My Little Kitty, Spiderman. Their true worth doesnít come from what others think about them, the cheers of the crowd, clothes, make up, money. AndÖ. you donít get that nasty taste in your mouth when you open a closet to the leftover lunchboxes and junk from the Brittany, Lindsay and Miley era.

My poor duck is on skid row. Because we thought it was pretty, we fed it and we told it we would provide love and then we took it away. The Canada geese may not fly away this winter. Why should they. Maybe we could open our garages to keep them warm as well as feed them. Hmmm...I see similarities here.

Excess, Billy Ray Cyrus cancelled a last minute interview with Piers Morgan to defend Miley Cyrus. I could understand that, whew thatís a hard act for a daddy to follow. Or maybe there is a duet in the wings.... Donít twerk my heart, my twerky jerky heart.

And contrary to popular belief piddliní is not always leisure time. Piddliní can be anything from bush-hogging a field to snapping a bushel basket of green beans.

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