Thanksgiving day might be a day of giving thanks for something someday in history. Pretty much who cares right? All it is to me is the worst day of my soon to be ended life.
It all starts about a week or two before Thanksgiving arrives. Hunters grab their guns and wait for us to fly up into the sky. Then at the correct second, we hear a loud bang and it's all over. I understand how the system works. We eat the fish, the fish eat the worms and the worms eat the dirt. It's the circle of life.
By now your probably like, "Okay Mufasa, what does this have to do with your story?"
Anyway, so after seeing fellow ducks get shot down I have noticed that it is not always the bullet which kills the duck. Sometimes it just clips a wing making it hard to fly. If the bullet doesn't kill you then the fall into that pond at 40 plus feet probably will. If the fall doesn't, which I have seen once in my life, those evil four legged things they call "dogs" will. They jump into the water and bite your neck so it's impossible to breathe and that is how we die and they get a Thanksgiving meal.
Once captured, our dead corpse is dumped into a small black bag and shipped to some kind of factory. There they pluck our nice feathers, one by one, and send us to the packaging place to get packaged for your nice Thanksgiving meal.
We sit at stores for hours on end waiting until one "LUCKY" customer strolls along and snatches us. Not caring for the well being of us, they just throw us into the cart and take us to the checkout counter.
At home you cook us and fry us and stuff us with some nasty stuffing. We just sit there on a fancy plate just starring at you as you pray. You pray for the food you are about to eat, which is me. All I have to say is you wouldn't have to pray for me if you didn't kill me.
Man, it's not cool to be a duck in November!!!
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