One day my Uncle was fixin to come back from fishin when this duck waddled up to him, and then followed him home from the pond. The duck hung around, and Bubba fed it and made it his pet. Even named it Polly Jean, after his dead wife, who had died in a mobile home skirting accident, (but that's another story). My Aunt Polly Jean was a right handsome woman, although rather stout and built real close to the ground, and Bubba said seeing that duck walk reminded him of Polly's gait. But the rest of the family didn't think it was right naming it Polly Jean, so we all just referred to the duck as PJ.
Well Bubba would play with that duck for hours, and liked to hold up a cracker and say, "Polly want a quacker?" And the duck would quack away, and Bubba would laugh, and laugh!
Well, one day PJ stopped eating, and Bubba got real worried and took her to the vet. The vet took one look at PJ and said that was a mighty old duck, and she can't eat because her upper bill had grown too big. The vet told Bubba to go home and file down the bill on PJ, but to be careful not to file it up too close to the nostrils, as PJ could drown if it was too much. We didn't see Bubba much after that, but we heard that a couple of weeks later the vet ran into my Uncle Bubba on the street, and asked how PJ was doing. Bubba said that PJ had died, and the vet lit into him about filing her bill too close to drown, and Bubba said, "Oh Polly Jean didn't drown. I think she was dead when I took her out of the vise!"
Bubba just kinda drifted off after that, and some say that he mighta headed Nevada way. I guess that losing two Polly Jeans in one lifetime was just too much for him to bear. Your Pal, CJ
[This message has been edited by Cranberry-Juiced (edited 01-08-2001).]
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