My Damn Duck

When I was 10 my Grandmother gave me a baby duck for Easter and I named her Chloe. However, from that day forward my Poppy called her "That Damn Duck". I am 99% sure nobody in my family expected Chloe to live past Memorial Day as baby chicks and ducks are not exactly known to be hardy pets especially when I am involved. Well guess what, apparently my duck was bionic and not only did she live past Memorial Day but three years later we finally gave her to friends of ours who lived on a lake where she continued to thrive for several more years. Chloe must have thought she was a dog because she would follow me everywhere with her little flat feet slapping with each step while she trotted along behind me. I even taught her to climb stairs. However, teaching her to come back down the stairs was not so successful. Chloe would stand at the top of the stairs and quack while rocking back and forth until someone would come carry her down. If we didn't respond quickly enough to suit her then she would tuck her feet and scoot down on her tummy. She loved to go with me to get the mail and would stand outside the post office and watch me through the glass door. If I was keeping her waiting too long she would quack and peck at the window and yes, she could be a tad bit demanding. Chloe's all time favorite thing to do was to stop by my Poppy's grocery store and he would always have a treat for her. Oh OK, he wasn't that thrilled when one morning he went to take a shower and found"That Damn Duck" swimming in his tub. Geesh...some people are so sensitive.