Government official kills my pet duck, so I make him lose his job, his house, and his marriage.

Here's what happened.

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So here's my story.

Back in May of 1990 there was an unseasonably late snowstorm.

A few days after it snowed, I was riding my bike and found a baby duckling all by itself

near a river. There was no mother duck around, so I put it inside my shirt to keep it warm and

brought it home on my bike. My mother thought it would die because it was so small and cold and shivering, but I put it under a light and after a while it dried off and started hopping around and peeping.

It was so cute.

It followed me like a puppy.

I called it Philip because that's what it sounded like it was saying whenever it peeped.

So after a few weeks, I figured I ought to teach it to swim and eat stuff in the lakes.

So I started bringing it to a small local beach. Philip did well.

He swam around and ate weeds and snails and everyone at the beach loved him.

Now my trouble started.

After I had brought Philip to the beach several times, the lifeguard told me that his

boss, the director of Parks and Recreation, who will be known as

stuffed shirt, had told him that there was a city ordinance against bringing pets to city parks.

I tried to explain to the lifeguard that it was only for a few weeks, and then the duck would be grown and able to live on its own. But he didn't care. I was upset. How was I going to teach the duck to live on its own?

I went to the library and got out the large blue books of city ordinances and looked up the

relative ordinance.

I discovered something interesting.

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