There I was complaining to my sister again about a certain someone – we’ll call her Daisy – who wore me down with her constant sniping, negativity and criticism. Daisy, my own joy-destroying mistress of pettiness, was driving me nuts!
“It’s death by ducks,” my sister announced. “You know, ducks have those little round bills to peck you with. One duck. No big deal. A couple ducks, a bit unpleasant. But before you know it, the pecking continues and you’re face down in the muck bleeding out.”
I don’t profess to be a duck whisperer, but I do live across the street from a park with a bird-filled lake. I visit the park often and I’ve seen my share of waterfowl activities. While walking by the lake this morning, I pondered my own death-by-duck problem and what to do about it. I came up with three options.
Kill and eat the ducks – messy and probably illegal.
Call pest control and move the ducks somewhere else. But these are creatures with beady third eyes deep in their skulls that let them effortlessly navigate thousands of miles and back. The ducks would return.
Bring in swans. Here was the elegant solution. Swans, beautiful, strong and fierce, keep every other bird in check. Ducks quake and bow before them.
Do I have swans? You bet I do! They’re my good friends and family, caring neighbours, a raft of smart professionals, my faith, my humour, my intelligence and a whole lifetime of experiences and perspectives. What are your swans when you’re in danger of death by ducks?