A Post for My Daughter
My oldest daughter and I just spent some time talking on Skype (so thankful for this program that lets us do this!). I asked her to give me a few things to write about, so she looked around her room and gave me the following: duck, pen, paper, owl, and water bottle.
So, I'll do my best! [Plus, I gave myself a 15-minute time limit to have it done and posted, so she can read it].
There once was an owl named Persimmon. Yeah, an unfortunate name, for sure, but his name, nonetheless. Persimmon was a very rare type of owl - a Tattooed Black-and-White Hill-Dweller, to be exact. As a Tattooed Black-and-White Hill-Dweller [or TBWHD], Persimmon was able to blend well into any black-and-white background, being able to hide very well in any hilly environment that had absolutely no color whatsoever (or at any tattoo symposium). This would explain why the TBWHD owls were very rare. Persimmon was not a happy owl by nature, and was want to search out small hapless mammals on which to vent his frustration and ire.
Perry was a Mallard Duck. Perry loved being a Mallard, since this afforded him the opportunity to dress up and be casual both, on any given day.
His green head and burgundy breast feathers lent him the air of a well-groomed man-about-town, who was equally at home on the golf course, and at his children's parent-teacher-conferences.
Perry had no children, but that's another matter entirely. Suffice it to say that Evelyn had never accepted his many proposals of marriage, and Perry was very much a one-female duck.
Perry loved the water. Swimming in it, that is. He did not, however like bottled water. Mainly because he could never get the caps off by himself.
In his great frustration one afternoon - caused mainly by the lack of pond-skimming spiders on which to munch for lunch - Perry decided to express his frustrations with a tersely-worded letter to the editor.
Seeing his old pal Persimmon snatch a plump squirrel from the ground near his pond's edge, Perry called out, "Quack!"
Persimmon didn't understand him, because owls don't speak duck.
But he was startled just enough to drop his little black notebook of lined paper and a black ink pen. Convenient, wouldn't you say?
Perry waddled onto the bank of the pond, and - taking the pen in his beak - quickly fired off his letter to the editor of the local country paper.
Having spent ten minutes writing (most of it trying to hold the paper still as he wrote holding his head sideways - you try it!), Perry was satisfied with his wording, and yelled out, "Quack!" again.
Although Persimmon spoke no duck still (imagine, ten minutes later, and no better off linguistically), he was again distracted enough to swoop down and grab his notebook and pen again and fly off.
Miraculously, he deposited the letter on the desk of the paper's editor that very afternoon in a tale of marvelous things that I unfortunately have no time to tell (my time is almost gone).
But the editor refused to publish it!!!
Too much fowl language.
So, I'll do my best! [Plus, I gave myself a 15-minute time limit to have it done and posted, so she can read it].
His green head and burgundy breast feathers lent him the air of a well-groomed man-about-town, who was equally at home on the golf course, and at his children's parent-teacher-conferences.
Perry had no children, but that's another matter entirely. Suffice it to say that Evelyn had never accepted his many proposals of marriage, and Perry was very much a one-female duck.
In his great frustration one afternoon - caused mainly by the lack of pond-skimming spiders on which to munch for lunch - Perry decided to express his frustrations with a tersely-worded letter to the editor.
Seeing his old pal Persimmon snatch a plump squirrel from the ground near his pond's edge, Perry called out, "Quack!"
Persimmon didn't understand him, because owls don't speak duck.
But he was startled just enough to drop his little black notebook of lined paper and a black ink pen. Convenient, wouldn't you say?
Perry waddled onto the bank of the pond, and - taking the pen in his beak - quickly fired off his letter to the editor of the local country paper.
Having spent ten minutes writing (most of it trying to hold the paper still as he wrote holding his head sideways - you try it!), Perry was satisfied with his wording, and yelled out, "Quack!" again.
Although Persimmon spoke no duck still (imagine, ten minutes later, and no better off linguistically), he was again distracted enough to swoop down and grab his notebook and pen again and fly off.
Miraculously, he deposited the letter on the desk of the paper's editor that very afternoon in a tale of marvelous things that I unfortunately have no time to tell (my time is almost gone).
But the editor refused to publish it!!!
Too much fowl language.
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