Better than OK in OKC

Our friend Art doesn’t have his own blog yet and needs to take over ours to give an update on his weekend Writer’s Conference where author David Morrell (creator of Rambo) is one of the key speakers. Take it away, Art.

Thanks, Porthos. It’s good to be me this weekend. (I told the ducks my real name, but they said they’re used to “Art” and want to stick with that.)  Since arriving in Oklahoma City Friday evening, I’ve been getting priceless insights from authors, editors, and agents. 

It's also good to get to talk with other aspiring writers. My commitment level to do what I love, along with my skill level to do it, are getting ratcheted up a few more notches each day, with one more day to go.

For an author who is so high caliber that he could afford to be aloof if he wanted to, David Morrell is amazingly giving of his time.

Everyone has applauded him as he enthusiastically runs over his allotted time whenever he speaks, and answers every question with great care and wonderful illustrations. The background stories he’s been telling about his experiences over a still flourishing 41-year career are worth my 7-hour drive here all by themselves. But there are also more than 20 other presenters, and I’m making every session I possibly can.

One anecdote from the conference, and then I’ll move on to an amazing frosting-on-the-cake dining experience I had here just tonight.  Some of you know that I entered an abridged version of the stories in this blog into the writing contest that’s part of this conference. I was hopeful I’d be able to report to Porthos, Athos, Aramis, and you that it won at least an honorable mention. So, along with everybody else in the auditorium, I was on the edge of my seat when it was time for the announcement of the winners. And guess what? I didn’t get an honorable mention. I got……wait for it……..

Nothing.

Nothing, that is, except the realization that I had been naïve to think something that started as just an exercise to learn the mechanics of blogging and amuse myself (sorry, duck friends), would warrant any kind of recognition from professionals.  There are some very good and very serious and very funny writers here. And I do plan to join them.

Now… on to tonight’s dinner experience, because as it was unfolding, I knew I had to write about it.

Today’s conference sessions ended around 5:30, and I hung around as I also did last night to catch David Morrell’s answers to the final questions, which continued as he walked out to the parking lot to catch a ride to whatever restaurant he was going to. Can you believe it, he didn’t ask me to come along either night to chat over dinner about my future plans. What's up with that? So I would sit in my car and ask Google maps what restaurants were around me. Tonight I was struck by one called Seoul Garden Korean Restaurant, which had one of the highest ratings of any that Google found in my area. So I had my smartphone GPS app, fondly nicknamed “Edna” for her constipated voice, lead me there.

As I pulled up to the restaurant in a very plain looking strip center with only one car in the lot, I doubted Edna’s wisdom. 

But it was close to my hotel, and it was food, so I parked and went in. Yep, completely empty except for one lone patron. I picked a table and started to sit down, then saw the sign, Place Order Here.  I was really doubting now, but committed. As I walked up, the kitchen doors swung open and a pleasant Korean woman came out to ask if she could help me. With no idea about Korean food, I asked what their most popular items were on the numbered menu on the wall. She said #2 and #5. I chose the latter (an interesting looking bowl of rice, beef, vegetables, and a fried egg) along with some hot tea, paid $8.59, and sat back down.

I know, I know, why write about this? Because we were taught today to avoid flashbacks if possible and tell the story straight through. I needed to set the scene for you from the beginning, and it also creates some tension as you wonder how this fits with what I said earlier about this being a great dining experience. Well, that tension is about to be resolved, because we are finally at the good part.

The sweet owner of the restaurant shows me their wide selection of Korean tea bags, recommends her favorite to me (green tea with roasted brown rice), shows me where the hot water spigot is, tells me warmly that everyone who enters here is like family, and disappears again into the kitchen.

I’m enjoying my tea when a few minutes later the kitchen doors swing open again and she walks out with a tray full of little appetizer dishes that I know I didn’t order. I know they are not for another customer, because the only other guy in the place is sitting way across on the other side of the room, and she’s definitely headed straight for me. She sees my confusion and asks, “Do you know Korean food?”

I say no, thinking, Maybe because I was polite to her and she likes me and they’re not busy, she’s showing off what they can do in the kitchen? OK, how cute, I’m sure not in any hurry. I smile and ask, “So this will cost me extra right?” fully expecting it to and happy to pay it.  She shakes her head and smiles and says no.  It’s a pretty bare room with a linoleum floor, so sound carries, and now the regular customer across the room who can’t help but hear us chimes in with, “That comes with every meal, and if you need more, she’ll bring it.”

What?

Now she points out what all the little dishes are as she sets them on my table, saying it’s the Korean version of a salad before the meal. 

She’s careful to ask me if I think I want the fish cakes or not, because some people don’t. I say sure I’ll try it all, and I thank her profusely. Was that a slight bow as she turns to go back into the kitchen?

I slowly sample these delicacies and sip my delicious tea for a while and peruse one of David's books. 

Then out she comes again with my steaming main course in a heavy black bowl that keeps it really hot. She asks me if I would like the spicy sauce. When I say yes please, she pours some on it and starts mixing it in for me, tossing the contents of my bowl like food prepared table side at an upscale restaurant.

I’m getting a little overwhelmed, and say, “Now this you wouldn’t do if you were busy would you?” 

She smiles sheepishly and says, "No, but since you don't know Korean food..."

I enjoy the heck out of all the little taste treats and the plentiful main course, as she checks on me often. We chitchat some about how I’m from Houston and about the writers conference at Rose State College right next door. Her daughter worked in Houston but now lives closer to her here in Oklahoma City, and she’s glad.  I mention that one of our daughters went to OCU but now lives close to us in Houston, and one of our daughters is in Germany teaching music at a missionary school.

Next the Korean owner is standing next to me with a tray of dirty dishes from her other customer who has finished, so we’re the only two people in the restaurant now and she says, “I think you are a Christian.”  Although I’d like to think I glowed or something, I no doubt tipped her off talking about our missionary daughter. Anyway, she stands there a few minutes holding that heavy tray and tells me in broken English that she is a Christian and many Koreans are, but before that they believed in Buddha or in some religion (she couldn’t think of the name) where everything depended on how good you were, but that the Christian way is better, didn’t I think so?

I swallow a bite of fish cake that has suddenly gotten a little stuck in my throat and try to say the right thing. I think she at least gets that I agree with her.

I get her permission to use the pictures I’ve snapped on my phone and tell her I’m going to write about her tonight in the first person point of view using present tense, and recommend her restaurant too. She says oh, that’s nice, bows for sure this time, and takes the tray to the kitchen.

You can ask my wife how cheap I tend to be with tips, but I left a $10 tip for the best $8.59 meal I’ve ever had. Also tore a page out of my writer’s notebook and left a note saying Thank you for being so very gracious.

Bird Crisis and Middle East Crisis: SOLVED!

Porthos is letting me finish what I started here on his blog, so it’s me again, Athos, with the best possible news for you today about the Heron-Egret crisis. It has ended! And the two flocks have reached an agreement that may even spill over and solve the Middle East crisis!

Last night, Porthos, Aramis and myself had one of the biggest thrills of our long, long lives by becoming diplomatic envoys on a successful peace-making mission that has sweeping implications. Art dropped by and surprised us yesterday afternoon in the middle of our frantic planning session.

“Hey guys,” he said, “slow down a minute. It’s so good to see you again. I saw your blog entries and had to come to the golf course to find you. I am impressed almost beyond words at your resourcefulness and your role in the tense situation at the pond.”

“’Almost’?” I said.

“Right,” said Art. “You know I’m never at a loss for words. There were a few places where I did wonder if you were offending anybody.”

“Remember what we decided about that?” said Aramis. “We are the perfect immortal ducks to risk it. To quote Athos, ‘What are they gonna do, kill us?’”

“Well, I confess I’ll be totally speechless if you guys really do manage to solve the Middle East crisis.”

“It’s possible,” said Porthos, splashing around with excitement, antsy to get back in the public eye.
 

“Well, I’ll sure be watching for news bulletins,” said Art.

This morning, these local headlines appeared in the subdivision newsletter –

LOCAL Swamp Battle Ends as Combatants Reconcile

But that was just the beginning. The news is going viral around the world.

As I said in my last post, I witnessed a miracle a week ago in the Egret camp.

Here's how it all came about.

The head of maintenance for the park – a tough ex-marine the other humans called “Jim” – ordered his crew to re-excavate an old well that had been plugged as long as anyone could remember, in hopes of supplying fresh water once again to the pond.

As the crew dug all day, an Egret priest circled overhead watching them, for the well was on their side of the pond near an area where Egrets gathered for prayer. The men threw dirt and rocks into growing piles next to the deepening hole. At 5:00, as they threw their last shovelful onto a pile, something extraordinary caught the priest’s eye as he flew above them.

 

There on top of the last pile were some stones that looked different from all the other debris. The crew noticed nothing as they gathered their tools to leave. But the Egret priest’s sharp vision saw the vague outline of something he had been taught was just a myth – the three sacred stones of the Herons!

His mind raced. No bird in the pond must ever know that the stones were found! Just think how the Herons would celebrate! They would gloat and try to use them to increase their power and influence. I must warn the other Egrets! I need to get help to hide the stones again, or better yet, destroy them.

But as he swooped down for a better look, he saw something that changed everything. Feeling a supernatural surge of energy, the Egret priest soared off to tell his flock, shouting as he flew.

 

When he arrived, I was getting ready to leave the Egret camp after getting an interview with one of their military leaders. Instead of trying to hide his discovery, the Egret priest now wanted the world to know about it. He recognized me as a journalist and called me over as he told the other Egrets what he had found.

They were not the sacred stones of the Herons! They were El’s ancient love gift to the Egrets!

Many of the religious leaders were moved by this and started discussing the possibility of peace talks. But the military leaders were not interested. In fact, they were very hostile about it, insisted on their right to fight to the death. I remained quietly out of the way, listening to their prehistoric sounding squeals.

I heard the moderate Egrets in a yelling match with the radicals. I got a message to the Egret priest who had found the stones, offering my services as a mediator at peace talks with the Herons.

Well, it didn't happen overnight. The immediate result of that discovery

was an Egret civil war and more senseless bloodshed. Of course both sides called on El to help them. The moderates, who got through to the right El, prevailed. They had their ambassador fly to the golf course and take me up on my offer. So I told Porthos and Aramis, and last night the three of us flew back to the pond together.

It took all three of us to get the Heron leaders to the negotiating table. Then, because this whole thing had originally been my idea, I took the lead in mediating the peace talks.

The Herons confirmed that the Egrets’ stones were just like the sacred stones of their own tradition, except theirs had read, “My Dear Herons.”  Therefore, they finally recognized that the Egrets were just as favored by El as they were. And the Egrets, tired of bloodshed, were ready to give reconciliation a try.

“But,” piped up the Heron high priest, “it’s not entirely fair. Our stones were lost in the ancient war and still have never been found.”

This was where our diplomacy saved the day. We got the Egrets to agree to have the writing on their central stone modified so that the stones would apply to all of Abe’s descendants. Then we convinced both sides to display the stones on an elevated platform right in the middle of the pond, which would henceforth be shared in its entirety by both flocks.

To take advantage of our momentum, I immediately took steps for this breakthrough to resonate in global circles. 

The park maintenance director Jim is the only other human currently on the planet who can talk with us the way Art does. I knew he had military and government connections from his service in the Marines during Viet Nam. So after I explained to him all that had happened (which took the better part of an afternoon), he picked up the phone and called in some favors. 

Jim managed to get through to key U.S. ambassadors in the Middle East, who in turn relayed the news to their counterparts in Israel, Egypt, Lebanon, and Syria.
 

Wherever fighting was along Arab-Israeli lines, truces were called to evaluate the implications of the news from Texas. In places where the conflict was such a complicated civil war that even the ambassadors didn’t understand it, the news was ignored.

Nevertheless, we considered it a major triumph when we saw this headline this afternoon in a special late edition of the New York Times:

SACRED STONES UNEARTHED IN TEXAS POND!

Some Middle East Showdowns Averted As Forces Study Birds

It’s also important to know that Jim was successful in re-digging that well near the pond. The trend toward stagnant water is being reversed, and Heron and Egret families are nesting in the same trees and raising their chicks to grow up playing together.

Us? We plan to go back soon to live there too. I think that about wraps it up…  Hey, wait, Art just dropped by again and would like to say a few words.

“Wow! You did it! I’m speechless… but I would like to say a few words. Most importantly, not only am I proud of you guys, but you’ve inspired me to dig in and finish a novel I started about the Middle East before I met you. Because of that, I may not visit for a while. And because of that, you may not be posting on here for a while, if you get my drift. But I always know where to find you if no other methods of procrastination are working for me. Enjoy the pond!"

The Middle East: Here’s Why They Fight

Athos here again, still sitting in for Porthos. If you’re just tuning in, I recommend you read up on the background for this (click here). I gave myself an extra day to use the TouchPad to finish up my research and type out my notes from the interviews I got with the leaders of the Heron and Egret forces, and now I’m using it to publish my results in this blog.

Like I said, it’s time to get serious about understanding the major and minor conflicts raging all around us. They are nothing new. We had them in the 17^th century between France and England, and we have them today – from the major conflict in the Middle East between Jews and Arabs, to the minor conflict in our park in southeast Texas between Herons and Egrets.

But is it so minor? What if we could learn from it? Porthos, Aramis and myself can no longer make the kind of impact on history that we used to with our swords. Thanks to the technology Art introduced us to, and our newfound love for journalism, we now seek to make an impact with our words.

The escalating Heron-Egret conflict has changed our pond in the park from a paradise to a dangerous swamp, forcing us to become refugees in the comparative luxury of the 3rd hole water hazard on the golf course. To understand the root causes of the conflict, I did two things. I talked with Heron and Egret military and religious leaders who consented to be interviewed. And I relied on the wisdom that comes from being immortal, having lived over 400 years now with no end in sight.

Here’s the background of the Heron-Egret War as I was able to piece it together.

In the beginning, birds of all species originally relied on their Creator, who they called El, for guidance on sources of food, nesting sites, and raising their young. But a disruptive presence that the birds referred to as Abaddon also grew in influence, falsely promising greater freedom, power and pleasure for birds who rebelled and followed him. But for all who succumbed, lust and greed ultimately destroyed their families.
 

In the cradle of civilization (the Florida everglades), our story starts with Abe, the ancestor of all large water birds with long legs and long necks. Abe was neither Heron nor Egret, but was the father of both species. El had a special relationship with Abe and spoke to him directly, telling him to leave the everglades and migrate to a better place He would show him, where he would be the ancestor of flocks outnumbering the stars.

 Abe trusted El and just took off flying with his mate Sadie -- to what was then a perfect, lush, tropical paradise in southeast Texas. Here is a watercolor painting with an artist’s conception of Abe after his arrival in the Promised Land.

He eventually settled in the park that we three Muskaducks have called home for the last hundred years of our own immortal existence. We were late-comers to the religious and political climate of the region. By the time we arrived, the pond was still nice, but the ancestral paradise had started to fade to a distant memory.

We were told the ancient stories about Abe that were passed down from generation to generation by his descendants, the Herons and Egrets who are now living there. We noticed that their nests were on different sides of the pond, and that the Herons’ version of the stories was different from the Egrets’ version.
 

Their stories started out the same - with what a wonderful place it was when their common ancestor Abe first arrived in the Promised Land.

Pristine water, rich in minerals that prolonged life, used to gush from natural springs to the north and cascade down an outcropping of rock (which later became a source of heated religious dispute between the two families of birds). The terrain leveled off into a long, slow-moving stream that teamed with small fish and flowed like milk and honey into the pond, which was much bigger then. A smaller stream meandered south from the pond for scores of miles and eventually emptied into the Gulf of Mexico. So their source of life – the water of the steam and pond – remained always fresh.

So what went wrong? For starters, Abe and Sadie got impatient with El about His promise of offspring. So with Sadie’s permission, Abe mated with a Whooping Crane that had migrated down from Wisconsin – a wild woman.

She had a son, white like she was and just as wild, who became the father of the first Egret brood, later to be known as Great White Egrets.

Thirteen years later, an aging Abe and Sadie found out that miracles do happen for those who have faith. To all the birds’ amazement, they had a son who became the father of the first Heron brood. They had the same blue tint to their feathers that Sadie did, and were later called Great Blue Herons. Naturally they became Sadie’s favorites to have over for Sunday dinner.

Abe realized he had made a mistake to get ahead of El’s plans and take matters into his own talons. But he loved both his sons and all his grandchildren. And so did El, Who pronounced to Abe that He would bless both broods and make them both into thriving flocks.
 

Abe wanted both flocks to stay together, but Sadie didn’t. El finally granted her demand to shoo the Egrets out of her nesting area. He agreed that the flocks could be separated, but said He would be with the Egrets just as much as with the Herons, and would personally see to it that both flocks prospered. The Herons stayed in a small area on the north side of the pond by the rock waterfall. The Egrets, a much larger flock, occupied all the rest of the pond and its surroundings.

Both groups continued to profess allegiance to El. But Abaddon knew an opportunity when he saw one. It became more and more clear as I talked first with Herons and then with Egrets about their history and traditions, that Abaddon had hit on a diabolical and devastating idea. He saw a way to accomplish his main goal, which was to cut off El’s creatures from His love and care.
 

Abaddon realized all he had to do was infiltrate an institution he’s been using ever since – religion!

He was well aware that neither flock liked him. In fact, they hated him. Both Herons and Egrets had a religious ritual where they would stand motionless on one leg five times every day in prayer to El, asking among other things to be strong in resisting the ever-present, destructive lure of Abaddon.

It’s important not to over-simplify things here, because what Abaddon succeeded in doing took centuries of scheming, intrigue, and even brainwashing techniques that make the cults I’ve read about on the Internet look like Sunday School.

He twisted the traditions handed down from Abe just slightly in each camp, and then kept building on each twist until two religions emerged, both professing to take their marching orders from El. 

But here was Abaddon’s masterpiece – his greatest deception of all. He made each flock think that the other flock did not worship the true El! 

The Herons were absolutely convinced that although the Egrets invoked the name of El, they really followed Abaddon. So naturally the El of the Herons must hate the Egrets.

Likewise, the Egrets were absolutely convinced that although the Herons said they worshipped El, they were really instruments of Abaddon and were hated by the El of the Egrets.

With that brilliant strategy, Abaddon had assured that discord, violence, death, and all the other evil things he loved would be rampant in the region. So time passed, and the Herons and Egrets kept their nesting areas separate, fought each other, and told their chicks very different stories about what had gone wrong, who was at fault, and what El wanted from them.

Whenever the chicks in either flock were taught to hate in the name of El, the true El shed a tear. When religious leaders from either flock preached that killing those who believed differently from them somehow served a noble purpose and pleased El, He grieved for His creation. He had left so many signs of His love for both flocks.
 

El had given three ancient stones to one of the Heron’s leaders named Moshe. El Himself had engraved them with His wisdom, so that all ancestors of His special friend Abe would live full lives in harmony with El and with each other. The Herons enshrined these stones in a special nest they built atop the rock waterfall before Abaddon was able to devise a plan to stop them. 

The shrine always made them feel proud, like El loved them best. So Abaddon decided it was working out just fine to let the Herons keep their sacred stones. Because the one thing he did not want was for the Herons and Egrets to know that El loved them equally, as Abe had.

What neither flock knew was that El had also given a similar set of engraved stones to a leader of the Egrets. But Abaddon was ready this time. Because he needed to preserve the division he had created between the flocks, he could not let the Egrets know that they too had received this love gift from El. So he had their stones buried in a deep well. Abaddon filled in the well and then killed the leader and every Egret who knew about the stones.

El patiently went about His long-term plan to engrave His laws of love not on stone, but on the hearts of all His creation. He grieved with each new outbreak of war and strife, but knew that Abaddon’s reign on earth had an end, while his love did not.

Meanwhile, flocks of crows and skulks of foxes in the surrounding forest yielded completely to the corruption of Abaddon and actually worshipped him outright. They became aggressive enemies of the pond, often attacking without mercy. Ultimately they drove out the Herons, who sought refuge in the far distant ponds of Oklahoma, Arkansas, Louisiana, and even as far away as Upstate New York.

In their haste to escape, the Heron priests in charge of protecting the sacred engraved stones became confused, each assuming that others had retrieved them. In the heat of battle, the stones disappeared from their shrine on the waterfall, and nobody – neither Heron nor Egret – knew where they went. 

One of the traditions of the Heron priests was to pass down a description of the three stones from generation to generation. 

Their whereabouts has remained a mystery to this day. In fact, because the old stories seemed to favor the Herons, the Egrets refuse to acknowledge that the stones ever existed.

In their exile, the Herons continued to serve El the best way they knew how – by strictly observing all the tenants of the religion that had developed at home, and longing to return some day.

The Egrets, who were greater in number and united under their own brand of the religion of the pond, managed an uneasy co-existence with the crows and foxes. They expanded into the entire pond, including the rock waterfall. But after hundreds of years, it wasn’t the paradise it used to be. The stream that had emptied into the Gulf of Mexico was obliterated by highways and malls, and the springs to the north had been diverted into subdivisions so that now only a trickle went over the rock waterfall. And the pond became ever more stagnant..

The time came when the beleaguered Herons were able to migrate back home from exile. It was only natural that they considered the north side of the pond by the rock waterfall to belong to them, as it had when the two ancient flocks had first separated.

But it was also only natural that the Egrets who had been living there for hundreds of years now considered the whole area to be their native home.

So there has been no real peace in the pond ever since the Herons returned, and there have been frequent Heron-Egret conflicts, like the one raging there now. Their talons, meant for catching fish and grooming themselves and their spouse’s feathers in a mating ritual, are used as deadly weapons that they are turning against one another. And blood flows into the once life-giving pond. It is a miserable and unsafe place to live for all the wildlife.

I longed for the two camps to see that not only were they all the children of the same earthly ancestor, but also of the same loving Creator. Then they might be able to bury their differences, share the whole pond, and worship El together.

But of course that was totally out of the question because of what Abaddon had succeeded in doing centuries earlier. The poisonous seed he planted back then had grown into a cancer that is still present today. It is embodied in the quotes from the leaders I interviewed at the pond.

One Heron leader told me this –

   “The Egrets prostrate themselves before the god they call ‘El-ah,’ but that is a disgraceful sham that is not to be believed. They have proven by their disregard for life that their god is false and they are really Abaddon worshippers. For all we know, they eat their own hatchlings!”

In the Egret camp I heard this –

   “The Herons claim a birth right to the rock waterfall based on special privileges and special engraved stones bestowed by their god ‘El-weh.’ Nonsense! What god would displace native birds to make room for the thoughtless aggression of heartless immigrants? No, those Great Herons get their high and mighty ideas from the Great Abaddon! El-ah willing, we will eradicate them from the face of the pond.”

These interviews with the two camps’ military leaders were so discouraging because they show just how hopeless the situation seems. It would clearly take a miracle to turn the tide.

On my second day of interviewing, I witnessed that miracle -- a turning point in our local war, with possible global implications.

(click here to continue)

Athos Muskaduck on the Middle East

Athos here. I’m finally ready to do this blog thing. Don’t expect it to be all cutesy like when my partner Porthos was the narrator. He’s a bit of a narcissistic clown who is always craving the limelight. He said he was going to turn this blog over to me, the leader, for some serious business when I was ready.

 

But to even get near the HP TouchPad so I could swipe the touch screen with my wing and peck at the onscreen keyboard with my bill, I had to kick him away with my webbed feet and beat him about his green head with a stick. In case you’re joining this late -- Porthos, Aramis and I were transformed into ducks. And if that puzzles you, you can read the posts from Porthos earlier in this blog. They are silly at times, but informative.

But now it's time to get serious, so listen up while I hunt and peck on the TouchPad tablet and tell you how I have come to understand the tension in the Middle East by observing life right here in a Texas park.

By the way, we’re no longer in the park where Art met us and gave us the tablet. If you’re one of Art’s friends, he may have told you that he's sad he hasn't found us for several weeks now during his walks in that park. Well, I said before that he was a loser. The poor baby could find us if he tried.

We decided to fly just five kilometers north to golf course. The pond where we had met Art started to turn into a polluted, bloody swamp as the long-standing war between the Herons and the Egrets escalated. They launched surprise attacks nearly every day, using their razor sharp talons against one another to maim and kill. Turkey vultures who were circling constantly were often rewarded as the stench of the decaying bodies of casualties rose from many areas of the pond.

Because Herons and Egrets are closely species from the same common ancestor, it's always been a mystery how their fight for territory can become so fierce -- a mystery I think we've solved. I went back to the park posing as a journalist and obtained press passes into both camps to interview the leaders of the Heron and Egret forces. And now in our safe new location, I've been using the TouchPad to do in-depth research on them as well as the current Middle East situation, and some amazing parallels are emerging.

But some of you skeptics are already looking for reasons to disbelieve my story, and I know what you’re thinking. It would be impossible for three mallards to transport an HP TouchPad five kilometers! Correct. But not for ten mallards.

When we landed on the clear, clean water near the golf course, we soon found seven other drakes and their families who already called the 3^rd hole water hazard their home. They lived a nearly idyllic life within sight of spacious mansions and seemingly endless groomed lawns. 

Once in a rare while a white, round incoming missile shook them up a little and maybe killed some fish. But these were random disasters that were not directed at them personally. In fact, their lives were so sheltered that at first they did not want to deal with our impassioned stories of the escalating conflict and loss of life at the swamp in the south.

Just because we were mallards talking to other mallards did not make it any easier for us to explain our origin over 300 years ago as human Musketeers. We told them we could prove it if they would help us retrieve a communications device (the HP TouchPad) we had hidden back in the war zone -- a device that allowed not only glimpses into the past but also a panoramic present day view of all countries, cultures and conflicts throughout the Whole Wide World. We explained how dangerous it could be if this powerful device were discovered and misused by either side in the swamp conflict.

I was the one who devised the plan. In the dead of night, we stole a length of orange webbed construction fencing from a lot where yet another mansion was being built. All ten of us hooked our feet into the webbed fencing material. We flew in formation to the pond, found where we had hidden it, and then flew back again with the TouchPad cradled in the center of the webbing. 

Our mission was accomplished when we landed back on the golf course on a well-marked landing strip of perfectly manicured grass and set up the TouchPad near a golf cart charging station on the 10^th tee where we could plug it in. We sent Aramis back for the charging cord, which we always seemed to forget.

Our first task was to get our new friends to believe who we were. I’ll give Porthos credit for coming up with a strategy for that. Because he was still the most skilled at poking the tablet, and because Art had given him his Amazon Prime password and Instant Video PIN, he managed to rent the 1993 Disney version of The Three Musketeers. None of us had ever seen it before, but when we were able to predict every twist and turn of the plot, the other seven mallards got on board, begged us to let them become honorary Muskaducks, and started to ask for details about the conflict to the south.

We promised to tell them more the next day, because we were all tired from our mission, and from the long movie. As the three of us drifted off in our new sleeping quarters, we compared opinions on the choice of actors for our parts in this version of our classic historical adventures.

  

                                               

ME: I thought Kiefer Sutherland did an OK job as me, except for his scene with Milady de Winter. I did not say those mushy things to her after learning of her betrayal.

ARAMIS: Charlie Sheen was but a shallow caricature of my spirituality and my admitted appreciation for feminine beauty. I can’t see his career going anywhere but down.

PORTHOS: Couldn’t they have gotten some big name actor to portray me with flare and panache rather than that unknown comedian who played me with such buffoonery?  However, my character was shown as saving the day in several tight spots, and rightly so. I think you’re getting in a bit of a tight spot with your blog entries, Athos. You’re too dry and serious. Want me to take over for you tomorrow?

ME: Not on your life, Porthos. I am going to bring to this Middle East discussion exactly the tone it requires, you’ll see. Good night! And stay away from the TouchPad!

(to continue click here)

The Muskaducks Watch Art’s Film Short: ROCKY

Porthos Muskaduck here again with an update about a video we watched on our HP TouchPad today that fits with the July 4th holiday Americans near our park celebrated two nights ago with more noise than the muskets we fired in battles long past.

Our friend Art, who reminds us of our beloved d’Artagnan, has not visited us for many weeks. That would normally be less than the blink of an eye to us. We have been swimming, diving, eating with our tails skyward, and napping in the shade in various parks near Gascony in France, and now The Woodlands in Texas, for over 300 years -- ever since we were bewitched in the late 1600’s by Mordaunt, fiendish son of the unbalanced spy Milady de Winter, and changed from Musketeers in the Queen’s service into immortal mallard drakes.

But the time has been dragging lately, because we miss hearing of Art’s backyard exploits and offering him our sage advice. So our conversation around the pond often turns to Art and the new world he opened up to us by setting us up with this blog and our Facebook and Tweeter accounts. I may not have told you that he even left an HP TouchPad with us in the park.

Art apologized that it couldn’t run all the standard Google apps and said something about how it had not sold well. But to us it was the wickedest device we’d seen since King Louis XIV designed that iron mask for his secret twin brother. Actually, this is even wickeder. It turned out that the WebOS interface was quite suitable to the pecking action of our bills and the swiping action of our wingtips.

I use the TouchPad the most (that’s me standing tallest with the handsome blue speculum on my wings, remember?). And Athos is learning how to surf the web to research the Middle East conflict that he’ll be writing about here one of these decades. But we’re not “all for one and one for all” about this technology. Aramis (that’s him hiding in its shadow) refuses to poke it, swipe it, or even look at it.

This picture was taken by a very amazed woman who was taking a brisk walk around the pond carrying her miniature poodle in a little sling around her neck. (We see the strangest stuff here!) She stopped in her tracks and just kept staring when she saw us there pecking at the tablet icons.

Because her dog was contained, we stood our ground, giving her plenty of time to get her mini tablet device out of her pocket and snap this photo. I’d explain how we got her photo into our blog, but I don’t want to bore you or lose you in too much techie talk.

By the way, we didn’t speak to her. We prefer to maintain our low profile by speaking only with Art and his lady (and you of course). But after she had moved on, here’s the conversation we had among ourselves about the interesting discovery Athos made on YouTube –

ME:  Athos, how’s your Middle East research coming?

ATHOS:  Quack off! You think I’ve got all day to just work on that? But I did find a video that Art just posted.

ARAMIS:  Why doesn’t he come around any more?

ATHOS:  If you’d read your messages you’d know he’s been traveling on vacation, you Ludite.

ME:  And when he’s home he’s working hard to make HP’s new Slate 7 tablet more successful than this TouchPad he gave us.

ARAMIS:  Who cares…

ATHOS:  We should, that’s who! Most people who come to this park don’t give us the time of day, and he set us up with social media and even gave us a tablet.

ARAMIS:  Yeah, an old one nobody else wants…

ME:  You haven’t even tried it or you’d know it’s amazing. Anything you want to know about from when we were human, through all the centuries in between, right up to the present day… just peck at it and you get the answer.

ARAMIS:  I think you both spend way too much time staring at it. Your spiritual life is shriveling up to nothing.

ME:  Hah! On www.BibleGateway.com we can access the modern Message translation of the Bible that gets rid of all those King James “thee’s, thou’s, and “thine’s” we’ve outgrown, and I downloaded Kindle versions of devotionals by Oswald Chambers and that newcomer Billy Graham.

ARAMIS:  I don’t see you checking those nearly as much as Facebook and Fox News.

ATHOS:  All right, all right. Do you want to hear about this video I found or not?

ARAMIS:  Who cares…

ME:  I do. You said Art made it?

ATHOS:  Yep. Remember when Art posted on Facebook to David Edwards about how he was going to complain to Porthos about some pesky squirrel that keeps eating the sunflower seeds out of his bird feeder?

ME:  So the video is about that?

ATHOS:  Yes, but it’s weird. It doesn’t end the way I thought it would.

ARAMIS:  What do you mean?

ME:  Ah, so now that there’s a story involved that might have a twist to it… now you’re interested?

ARAMIS:  Maybe. What’s it about?

ATHOS:  Do you two know anything about Rocky Balboa?

ARAMIS:  Any relation to Vasco Balboa, the Spanish conquistador?

ME:  Wait a minute, Aramis. Have you been sneaking some Googling sessions on the TouchPad while we sleep or what? I just did a quick check and Vasco Balboa was before our time.

ARAMIS:  I know that, but we covered him in history class, and I paid attention while you must have been daydreaming about running away to join the king's Musketeers.

ME:  Just tell us about this video, Athos. What does this Rocky Balboa have to do with a pesky squirrel that’s bothering Art?

ATHOS:  Like I said, it’s weird. But we already know how Art is… ah… kinda obsessed with parallels between the small-scale wildlife drama in his backyard and the large-scale issues of striving, sin, suffering, death, and the innate desire for freedom of all people in the world…

ARAMIS:  Whoa, you may be giving him too much credit there, sport. I think he’s just a silly bird watcher who has problems with sparrows and squirrels.

ATHOS:  Maybe, but he could also have some creative insights. Ever think of that?

ARAMIS:  Not.

ATHOS:  In my opinion, Art’s own viewpoint changed as he produced, directed, shot and edited this film short.

ME:  I say let’s all reserve judgment, lower our expectations considerably, and click the link below to watch Art’s subtle July 4^th tribute to the unquenchable desire for freedom -- "ROCKY"

http://youtu.be/pKS0UfU4k7k