Lord of the Waterfowl

I didn't know apartments in my father's price range had the capacity for snazziness. Yet here I am, in a living room with a vaulted ceiling.  There's even a decent view from the balcony, which impresses me.

Usually, "decent view" in apartment talk means "not completely overlooking concrete". Luckily, this apartment's view doesn't even contain a single street. Though the balcony itself is not impressive in size, it overlooks a pond with an aesthetic variety of reeds, native cattail, and waterfowl.

The other day I grew guilty and weary of my internetting and decided to take a break out there on that balcony.  Not one to pass up a theatrical moment of somber self-reflection, I worked up my wistful stare and a majestic pose.  My concentration was soon interrupted by a low rumble of alternating quacks and honks.

The nearby ducks and geese were rushing as best as they can with those legs to surround my balcony.  I'm not sure if you've ever seen a web-footed stub-legged creature run (I use this description because I don't know if that is truly limited to ducks and geese only. A great aunt of yours, perhaps?), but it is fairlyyy ridiculousss.

After tiring their lil weirdo legs out and parking their tailfeathers in a crude semi-circle around me, they looked up at me expectantly, imploring some response with their subtle muted "henk"s and "uack"s. Silence fell and the focus was on me. I felt like some new birdish-goddess.

As always with quickly gained power, it was quickly lost.  You see, I did not do much to please my people.  I had no interesting morsels of wisdom or bread crumbs to share with these masses.  When no food fell to their greedy beaks, they lost interest in me and returned to the pond. 

A slice of toast, a slice of toast! My kingdom for a slice of toast!