Crouton Quest

The salad, as a dish, was inherently boring until it contained crusty bread. Downright awful, really, without the bread. The crouton was the pinnacle of human discards. It was even better than a half chewed Nature’s Trail’s granola bar, or a spit-softened rice cracker for babies. Not that any self respecting duck would say no to those things. Croutons were just better. So when the slim ladies walked out of their shiny doors carrying clear boxes with lettuce and packets of dressing all the ducks payed attention. Which ones would throw their little pack of croutons, without opening, right into the trash? They were no good in the trash.

We gathered cautiously around them; those slim women knew what we wanted. Most of them eyed us and turned up their noses. I fluffed my plumage back and got no response. One with a giant three wheeled stroller jogged past and scattered the group. We reformed, waddling together and quacking. Someone quacked a bit louder than the others and got a crouton rocketed at their head in reply. Stunned as it hit, he fell silent, but the rest of us wasted no time. The flock descended and the crouton was divided between three ducks who were not me. But it was that easy, was it? To get a human’s attentions and gain a crouton, all you had to do was quack louder and more impatiently? No one told me, and I certainly didn’t pay attention when the other duck, the lucky one as I thought of him, didn’t get up and quack again from his crouton experience.