There was a small gaggle of ducks to begin with. The girls laid tasty eggs, usually dropped at a run without looking back. They were non-flyers, but fun to watch in their pool. I didn’t take them very seriously at first. One of the ducks had a deformed beak that curved to one side. I named him Duck Cheney.  See what I mean?

Years passed and there was slow attrition. Eventually only two ducks were left.

Fred and Ethel had lived so long that their pithy political names had fallen…