In the beginning, there were five white ducks.

The wife of the story writer purchased them from a local farmer and placed them in the pond in front of their house. The story writer watched them swim and play when he stared out his window, in the morning, as he put words on paper. As the ducks became part of their family, the writer's stories became happy and sometimes ... they were even funny.

The ducks were bred for characteristics good for man - they put meat on their hollow bones quickly and were too heavy to fly. There were three females among them, and they left many eggs around the pond. After six months, one of the females disappeared during the night, a meal for a fox or a raccoon or a wandering bobcat. Tame ducks are a treat to wild animals.

There were four ducks, then.

The two remaining females left a dozen eggs each week around the pond, and they were rich to the tastebuds, too rich to be eaten by themselves, but when two were mixed with two chicken eggs, the resulting omelette was a delight. After another 3 months, a second female was gone during the night.

Now there were three ducks, two males and one female.

Wild ducks visited the pond. They dropped from the sky in pairs and studied their ancient cousins who could not fly or forage for themselves. Some of the visitors were small and brown and cute, while others were large and black and orange and ugly. The visitors stayed for a few days while they sampled the food that came from bags and were left in bowls by the pond. When the wild ducks tired of their new surroundings, they arose from the pond, whipping the water with their wings, and disappeared back into the sky.

The writer's ducks changed as they grew older, becoming lustful and aggressive. The males ravaged the lone female on a daily basis. She fought their advances for as long as she could, until she tired, and then submitted. After another four months, one of males was not there in the morning.

There were now only a pair of ducks that remained.

These two were together not as lovebirds, but as companions. The lust was gone, replaced by the sharing of defenses. One slept while the other kept watch, and then their duties were switched. One night, after another year, the remaining male did not show up in the morning.

There was only one duck left, a lone female. The writers stories now became lonely and sad.

It was always at night when they disappeared, during sleep. The writer wondered, how does a duck sleep knowing that during the night, death may come instantly and ferociously, as if in a dream? The lone female learned to hide and sleep during the day. She curled up in a large hedge bush, next to the house, where she made herself invisible. She hid eggs around the house, but they were few and had to be discarded because they spoiled when they remained outside too long.

Then one day, the last duck disappeared.

Each morning when the writer arose, he sat at his desk and looked out his window at the empty pond. He no longer found words to put down on paper, so he arose from his chair, put on a suit, and began his day chasing after money.

The pond remained empty for two years and writing was a distant memory to the story writer. He did not sit at his desk anymore, stare out the window, and put down words on paper. Instead, he rose late in the morning, bathed and dressed and ate, and then walked out the door to chase after money. He found the money he chased after, but he stopped smiling.

One day the writer's wife returned home with a cardboard box. She called to her husband, and when he she opened the top of the box, there were eight white baby ducklings inside, making cheeping noises. The writer smiled as he watched them.

The wife of the story writer locked the ducklings in a cage, safe from foxes and raccoons and bobcats. She fed them and washed their cage, and the ducklings grew fast, until the cheeping noises were replaced by honking. The writer was anxious to free the ducks from their jail, but his wife would not allow it until they were full-grown and able to flee from predators.

One morning, after three months, as the story writer left his home, he heard honking and splashing. He gazed in the direction of the pond, and there he saw the ducks. He watched them for a long time, and then quietly, walked back into the house, took off his suit, and sat down at his desk. As the ducks played, he put words on paper. The words were difficult at first, but then they came easily, and when they came easily, the stories were happy once again, and sometimes ...

... they were even funny.

THE END