Succession Meets Downton Abbey in a Duck Pond
This week at Duckton Abbey: a fight for Succession.
An irascible old coot named Logan Drake has long been the real power behind Duckton Abbey, otherwise known as DuckStar PondCo. When he flapped his wings and squawked Motherquacker, a chilling wind passed over the pond, the flock quivered and shook water off their backs as would wet sheepdogs. Logan was a self-made mallard who had led a rough early life: His father migrated to Puerta Vallerta and never came back. Life was one, almost tragic, downfall after another.
“I’ve taken so much buckshot in my ass I fly vertically,” he quacked.
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Logan had several mates. He could never resist a seductive waddle, including a scandalous liaison with the Dowager Duck, “Eew,” she quacked, “his feathers were so oily that he left a multicolored slick wherever he swam.”
His four offspring: Kendall the Canvasback, Roman the Ringneck, Shiv the Silver Teal, and Connor the Crested, had feathers in the game…and knew it. They knew that Logan would not last forever: his emerald coif now spouted tufts of dirty white fuzz and he suffered from an increasing lack of buoyancy.
Then, somehow always present, was Logan’s awkward, fawning great nephew Greg the Grebe.
But now there is a threat to the kid’s inheritance, to their succession. A flock of Norwegian Arctic Puffins had conspired with Logan to engineer a reverse migration, to take over PondCo, leaving the kids in the swamp.
“Guttersnipes,” they cackled, as they gathered their defenders, a cadre of tufted mergansers, topped with head feathers like the wigs of British barristers.
“Puffins are fat, they can barely fly and they nest in crevices of seagull crap,” quacked Roman the Ringneck.
“I think they’re kinda cute,” chirped Shiv the Silver Teal.
“Don’t get chirpy on us Sis,” cackled Kendall the Canvasback. “This is serious!”
Little did they know but Logan was listening behind the door. He burst into the room, “You, have not yet wiped the snot off your beaks, but you are already plotting against me. I know, the Norwegians are motherquackers, but I am going to do this deal.”
“You can a-fjord to pass this up,” tittered Greg the Grebe.
There was an awkward silence, then Connor the Crested squawked “But, but, Dad, you’re going to piss of our stockholders!”
“Let them eat lutefisk!” Logan squawked back.
To be continued…or not.
