And so it came to pass …I love that phrase as it means I can move on to another sense of literary direction and at the same time make it appear I am capable of finding a literary direction.
Oh indeed, it came to pass that memories of my high school years of whisperingly insulting the most capable and accoladed chap returned with the arrival of two guests about a fortnight back.
For they shared the same name.
Although one is singular and the other is the opposite of singular.
I should have looked it up but I think the dictionary dissolved in the terrible waters of the deluge.
Dux is the singular … ducks are the …not singular.
A quacky duo perchance?
And so it came to pass (please bear with me reader … or readers if I'm lucky) I walked outside to do something, as one does, and I heard the arriving guests.
Were they arguing?
Were they casting comment on this most trying of years?
On that note … this cyclonic and flu-spiked challenging year is the year of 20-20.
In the terms of fine vision 20-20 vision is rather splendid I understand … yet in terms of global vision no one saw all this stuff coming.
The general consensus is "roll on 2021" but it has to be said that we, of the Kiwi land, have battled and braved and endured with remarkable stoicism and dignity.
She'll be right mate.
As long as the bottle stores don't go into lockdown she'll be right.
Now where was I?
Oh yes, the noisy couple who turned up that day and appeared to settle quite comfortably for a timely stay.
On the garage roof.
A bloke and his missus.
They were cheerful visitors, albeit a tad noisy but we threw some tucker up for them and carefully quarantined the cats in the spare room while the duckies were aloft … because despite the ducks being as large as the cats the whiskered chaps were keen to go and embrace them.
They left by noon, and when I later told the grandkids about them they asked if we had named them.
"Oh yes," I quacked in reply. "Can you guess what?"
They chirpily suspected we had dubbed our recent guests Donald and Daisy, because that made sense.
"Close," I responded … "although we have however decided that the recently arrived dux of this suburban institution shall be known as Otis and Lucretia."
To which one of them quietly remarked to the other "he's nuts yeah?"
And so it came to pass (sigh) that a few days back we were minding our little grandson and I suggested we take a stroll.
To the creek, where there may be dux to honour (with tucker rather than lead pellets).
So off we went.
It was a splendid day and a splendid stroll, although there was not a duck to be seen.
However (please don't say it came to pass … all right then I won't) our disappointment was eased when we ventured into the nearby park on the way home, a park which had tasted the wrath of rain three days earlier.
There was a lake in the field of green, and on the edge of it sat two ducks.
"Otis? Lucretia?" I heard myself ask.
They looked at me funny … as did the bloke nearby who was walking his dog.
He appeared to mouth the word "loony". While I daresay the ducks simply summed me up as "quackers".
But as we got closer they edged toward us, and I am convinced they recognised me … although in hindsight I think it had more to do with the fact I was bearing edible gifts.
And so it came to … so anyway, two days ago, after some time away, Otis and Lucretia touched down again on the garage roof.
Food was provided, of course, and they happily departed … loudly.
Birdies of all descriptions are a joy.
And Otis and Lucretia have been told they are most welcome to call by.
So there it is.
My tale of the dux, and not one mention of Trevor Mallard … ohhh.
Roger Moroney is an award-winning journalist and observer of the slightly off-centre.