Craziness.
I love birds, but when they make a lot of really obnoxious noises it makes me want to shoot them all. Birds are a pleasant sign of spring, sure, but couldn't God make certain all their songs were pretty?
And the ducks. Who's been feeding them? Someone must be, because they make a lot of noise when one walks by-- get all up in my face like they're waiting for me to give them something.
Kind of like my brothers. Loud, irritating, and impossible to please. I love them, of course. I also love song birds. That doesn't mean I don't want to shoot them when they make too much noise in the morning.
Really, when your sister's had a long day at work the day before, don't wake her early in the morning to drive you somewhere because you haven't gotten your own driver's lisence yet.
Puh-lease.
Ducks. Have you noticed they like to walk in syncopation with one another? And if you have anything edible, they'll chase you down in perfect formation too. Brothers, when they outnumber the sister population, are like hungry ducks. Not that I'm calling my brothers ducks-- or maybe I am.
In any case, do they practice? One biting word after another, carefully chosen to make sure the sister's on her own against all three of them. Not fair. Not remotely.
You gotta throw the bread and run, with ducks. Gotta grab the plastic wrap and jet while they're swallowing.
With brothers, you have to throw some attempt at a witty comeback their way. Then salvage your pride and jet while they're laughing.
Oh, I don't suppose they really were all that bad. Bullying your sister is a rite of passage for a duck-- I mean a brother.
The ducks on the lake today look really peaceful. But something's lurking under that feathery facade. Give 'em a bread crumb, they'll take the whole loaf.
Ah, but they, and brothers, are lovable nonetheless.
I suppose I shouldn't refer to my brothers as ducks. But really, they started it.
postscript
Written on a writing marathon around campus today. It was fun. If you ever get the chance to do a writing marathon, do it.