Oh Danny Boy

Mia loves Danny the duck:



Danny quacks. Or more precisely, he once quacked. Let's just say, he don't quack no more.

Like all good stories, Walter was the instigator. He one day decided to chew Danny a bit, and, after sopping up a quarter cup of Basset Hound spit, we figured it would be best to wash Danny before letting our daughter play with him again. Danny survived the wash with dignity, but something went horribly wrong. He wouldn't stop quacking. Or more to the point, he would quack erratically. Quiet for an hour, then a ray of sun would set him off. It was downright creepy. Obviously we couldn't live like this, but what could we do? Baby likes the duck.

So that's how I ended up performing open duck surgery this afternoon. The stitches have since healed nicely, which wasn't the tough part. No, the moment that I never thought I'd witness as a father came when I smashed Danny's evil quacking heart with a hammer on our back porch. So like I said. Danny don't quack no more.

Now here's your obligatory cute picture.