I confiscated a loaf of bread from the cafeteria and wandered over to Freedom Park in the snow to feed the ducks. I haven’t fed the ducks in years, but there is one thing that holds true no matter where you are or how old you get. Bread tastes better when you’re getting ready to feed it to ducks. Really, there’s no other way to eat bread that compares. I stopped myself from nibbling away my entire gift to them before I got there, though.
Those ducks are trained. I had no idea. The second I got there and stood, looking vaguely like I might have something matter to attend to between the ducks and myself, they were all flying and paddling and racing over to where I stood. So I passed out little chunks of delicious bread to all the ducks, distributing it as evenly as I could and avoided praising the mean ducks that chased all the other nice ducks away.
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