Quack quack

Yesterday after work, I tried to take some photos of jewelry. I say “tried” because I get my best shots outside, and it was friggin’ COLD outside.

So I have on this funky stretchy bracelet with blue mother-of-pearl’esque triangles that look like a series of bow-ties (you’ll see it when I post next week), and I hear something from below.

My apartment is a second floor one, and I take my pictures on the balcony. When I look down, I see this:

except there are four (I never managed to get a pic of the four together). I immediately snap photos, then run inside to grab bread and lob pieces off my balcony.

At this point, I am practically prancing out there, I am so excited to see these little buggers waddling around, snapping at each other and chasing my bread. I look around to make sure no one else is witnessing my baby freak out. I name my four ducks: Don, Donny, Donald and Frankenstein.

They start to waddle away, and I quacked. My “quack” isn’t a normal one. It’s this noise I can make in my cheek, and it’s as close to Donald Duck as its possible to get unless you actually know how to talk correctly in your throat. When I make this noise, the retreating ducks stopped. I swear they looked at one another, and they started to waddle back toward me. I kept quacking, they kept looking around.

And thus, my Thursday was made.