Duck on a Wire

“Is that a duck on the wire out there?” Mom asked from the dining room.

I looked across the couch at Bill, who gave me a sideways glance, shrugged and attempted to go back to his Kindle.

“Duck?” I whispered.

“Yup,” Bill whispered back, his eyes never leaving the book he was reading.  “On a wire.”

“What duck?” I called out as I slowly peeled myself off the couch and stood up.

“The one out back sitting on the wire holding up the tree.”

I walked out of the Arizona Room into the dining room and stood next to her where she sat, gazing out the window.  “What are you talking about?” I asked.  “What wire holding up which tree?”

“The one over there,” she said, pointing toward the street.  “There’s a duck sitting on the wire.”

I looked across the yard at one of our Palo Verde trees, which was propped up to prevent it from listing too much toward our neighbor’s yard.  A bird was perched along the wire that held the tree to a five-foot metal stake.

“It’s a dove,” I said.

“It’s too big for a dove,” Mom argued.  “I think it’s a duck.”

“Mom, I don’t think a duck could sit on a wire.  They have webbed feet.”

“Oh, that’s right.  Well then it might be a goose.”

“More webbed feet.”

“How about a…”

“It’s a dove,” I interrupted.  “A big old fat male dove.  If we get any ducks in the yard, they’ll probably be in the birdbath.”

“Oh, okay.  Well if I see any swimming there, I’ll let you know.”


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