So the three of us were sitting on the dock at Burnaby Lake, eating our lunches. The macrame artist, the marine biologist and myself, whatever I am.
The other two were debating the best way to have tomatoes in the sandwiches they brought from home. Macrame was in favour of hiding the tomatoe slices in between several layers of lettuce and biologist thought that keeping them in a ziploc bag and adding them in at the last moment. Either way, the tomatoes must be present, or else it isn't a sandwich.
I don't know. I just like eating leftovers out of mason jars, myself.
There was a sudden pause in the conversation as we all looked towards the lake, where a small family of ducks was swimming around. Two ducks, two ducklings. Suddenly we noticed a gradual swell from under the water that became larger and larger as it approached the family. They began to swim faster, and the parents, outswimming their children began to quack in alarm, flying into the air as whatever was under the swell broke through the surface of the water with a splash.
We took our lead from all the birds nearby of all species that began to fly around in circles, squawking, quacking and shreiking. The three of us also ran around screaming our heads off until we calmed down enough to fall on the ground laughing. Within an hour, we had sat down, each told our version of the story and made sure that we had all seen what we thought we had.
And for the rest of the summer there was only one duckling...
True story. Seriously.
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