While patrolling downtown one afternoon, a police officer noticed something unusual puttering down the road: an old, rusty pickup truck wobbling under the weight of dozens and dozens of ducks. They peeked over the sides, quacked loudly in chorus, and looked as if they were on a field trip no one had signed off on.
Concerned, the officer pulled the driver over. Out stepped an elderly man with a weathered hat, work boots, and the calmest smile the officer had seen all week.
“Sir,” the officer said, trying to sound authoritative, “you need to take these ducks to the zoo. Immediately.”
The old man tipped his hat politely. “Of course, officer. Will do.”
And with that, he drove off into the afternoon traffic, ducks bouncing along in the back like feathery passengers.
The next day, during the same patrol, the officer nearly dropped his coffee. Coming down the street — unmistakably — was that same old truck, still overflowing with ducks. But this time they were wearing sunglasses, some perched on the edge like celebrities avoiding paparazzi. Music blasted from the radio, and several ducks bobbed their heads to the beat.
The officer sped over and flagged the man down.
“Sir,” he said, baffled, “I told you yesterday to take those ducks to the zoo.”
The old man beamed. “And I did! They had a great time. Saw the monkeys, posed for pictures, ate popcorn… they didn’t want to leave!”
Then he pointed to a cooler, a beach umbrella, and a pile of inflatable floaties in the passenger seat.
“So today,” he said proudly, “we’re going to the beach.”
With that, he cranked up the music, the ducks quacked in agreement, and the truck rumbled away — a happy convoy headed for sunshine, sand, and who knows what other adventures.
One thing was certain:
Those ducks were living better than most people.
