Lions And Ducks And Bears

The Middle East is burning. Protests spreading in Libya; protests spreading in the Middle East and beyond. Once the cat is out of the bag, everything becomes unpredictable. In Libya, the prize is light crude. Many nations - especially in Europe - depend on it. Oil prices rising everywhere - affecting everything. Someone in Libya shouts, “Where is America? Where is the UN? This is a massacre! We need help. Now!”

They don’t ask for Chinese intervention. They don’t ask for Russia - or Europe. They ask for America. An automatic reflex.

“Sorry guys, you’re on your own. We’ve got our own insurrection to deal with. Wisconsin. And it’s spreading to other states.“

“But what about the oil? We’ll pay!”

“Sorry again, guys. We don’t need your oil. We’re ’green' now. Don’t you see? We’re green. Oil is a cancer. We’re trying to choke it off. We’ve got windmills, batteries, solar panels - and mercury light bulbs. Besides ….besides what?

“While we may have started all this mess with the likes of Google, Facebook and the unions, it’s out of our hands now.”

Kaddafi is toast. He burnt us once too often. No sympathy for that dictator. He’s fresh out of IOU’s - and so are we. The rest will fall in place after the dust has settled. Blame it on Israel.
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In the center of the town, opposite the station, is the village green. There, right in the middle, is a pond. The family often goes there to feed the ducks after dinner with the bread that’s left over.

Dad says, “Look kids! They’re over there.” And the kids run over to where they are.

When the parents catch up with them, mother remarks, “My, how they’ve grown!”

Dad is unsure whom she’s referring to - the children or the ducks - and says nothing. When their bags are empty, the children are anxious to leave.

“Say good-bye to the ducks,” Mom says.

“They’re not ducks,” chime the children in unison.

“What are they then,” asks Mom.

“Bears,” say the children.

Mom and Dad laugh. They think it’s cute. From then on, the family refers to the ducks floating silently on the surface of their own reflections on the village pond as ‘bears‘.
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Later that year, the county proposed a bear hunt to cull the sloth that’s become a nuisance to garbage cans and pets. There were so many people against it that the idea was scrapped.

Mom mentions it one evening to Dad. “They’ve banned duck hunting,” she says.

Dad looks up from his paper. He seems annoyed. He liked to go duck hunting with his friends - in season, of course. “What’s wrong with duck hunting?” he exclaims.

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