Marissa Lingen (mrissa) wrote,
Marissa Lingen


I opened the door to get the paper this morning and found two smashed-in bloody duck eggs and the bloody remains of two fetal ducklings on the front doorstep.

I am very quietly but very firmly freaked out by this. It is -- it is not pleasant, is what. It is not something I am looking forward to cleaning up.

Neighbor dog? Raccoon? What did this? Duck eggs do not fall from the sky or (more importantly) from high-up nests: it's clearly a matter of something or (far less likely) someone doing it. Right up against my front doorstep.


This is one of the upsetting parts of being a grown-up: asking one of the other grown-ups you live with to clean up something disgusting is a very, very different thing from being able to shriek, "Ewwww! MOOOOOOOM!" Being a grown-up means noticing that there is no particular reason why someone else should do this thing you don't want to do, because they likely aren't keen on the idea either.

Tags: veryveryvery fine house
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