The mist on the pond this morning was higher than the trees. With the temperature hovering around 38, the warm water allowed plenty of the mist, which barely stirred in the almost still air. The sky was clear, except for a few cirrus to the east; pastel orange wisps above the almost quiet surroundings.
I watched the ducks slowly start their morning. All are butterball fat, spend very little time foraging, and keep their eyes peeled for someone to come feed them. They are patient, and will become excited when the can is opened, and the feed spread on the ground. That, or some bread is brought, which is thrown into the air, or right into their opened mouths. Like circus animals, they've been trained to catch the bread before it hits the ground.
As I watched, I was thinking how we turned them into Democrats. They expect food without any effort on their part, they stopped foraging for their own food, and those that once flew are now too fat, or lazy. They waddle, or swim to the food, instead of swooping from the sky to be first in line.
These ducks are lucky, because nobody here is interested in harvesting them for a tasty Sunday dinner. Of course, that could change. I like baked duck, and duck gumbo. They don't know this, and if they did, they would have left long ago.