Brits of a certain age were taught that a man's best friend is his duck. We’ve already established, however, that my ducks had gone missing in my hour of need, leaving me duckless and defenseless to Cathy’s insistence. So I didn’t feel minded to have them accompany me on my trip to New England.
It’s all Shazza’s fault.
I was explaining to her my plan to spend several months of my fall sabbatical traveling in New England. “You should blog about it,” she said. I rejected the idea out of hand. “But you’re always writing,” she insisted.