On the banks of the River Kenn, just half a mile from Europe’s third largest paint factory, a shabby old mallard was rejecting the contents of last nights binge. A steaming pile of dark red vomit pooled up in the long grass and dribbled slowly down into the river. His feathers, once emerald green, were now filthy; stained irreversibly by years of high strength lager. The bird was known as Trampduck. He covered his head with a wing and let out a painful caw. “Waaaaaaaooouuch! Waaaaaaaooouuch! My head, my poor, poor head!” Trampduck had experienced some hangovers in his long tragic life, but this was definitely the worst. What had lead to this squalid scene? The bird could not remember, his mind was too raw even to think. “Must remember, must remember what I did to deserve this.” Thought Trampduck, his head throbbing like an angry Chaffinch.

He raised his beak and poked it through the reeds to gain some bearings. The duck was in a park, one that he knew quite well. About 10 metres away a family of four humans scoffed down a picnic as though they were spending their last seconds on Earth. Pork Pies, ham sandwiches and boiled eggs were being dumped down their throats with such speed a passer might only discern a giant pint blur. “What greed!” thought Trampduck, “What disgusting greed! Stuffing their faces with not one crumb left for poor old Trampduck.”
The smallest of the four humans was no more than a baby. Sprawled on a red tartan rug, it’s mother filled his belly with apple sauce while she tucked into a fat chocolate éclair. As she bit into the cake a blob of cream spilled out, saved from spoiling the rug only by the baby’s greasy chin. Neither mother or child seemed to care, and carried on with their lunch. It had now been some time since Trampduck’s last meal, and the mornings vomiting had left the bird’s stomach empty and swollen. With a head still ringing with booze, Trampduck tried to concentrate, carefully considering the available options. After about thirty seconds the bird had made up his mind. “If I were quick enough, I could eat that little fucker for my lunch!”

He was a stubborn old duck, and even though the plan had numerous ethical and legal complications, he was certain it was fool proof. With a horrendous scream- like a pig treading on a landmine- Trampduck charged towards the child, his wings flapping with ugly, violent rhythm. It was the biggest human, the father, who first saw this terrifying sight. “Kate, get the children! It’s a mallard, and I think it might be rabid!” But it was too late, and the mother human could not get to the baby before Trampduck. He snapped his beak shut on the child’s fat arm and jerked it off with the clean efficiency of a Olympic weightlifter. “IN THE NAME OF CHRIST NOOOOOO!!” Yelled the human dad, too busy protecting his other child to save the baby from a less than peaceful death. The mother had managed to grab a jar of pickled onions from the picnic spread, and was throwing them one by one at the murderous duck. “Leave my baby alone you vile, despicable creature. What the hell are we going to do James, it’s killing baby Daniel!” she screamed. Her hysteria was badly affecting her aim, making most of the onions go wildly astray. The human dad had now given up on his smallest child and was running towards the car park. “It’s no use Kate, we have to get out of here or that fucking duck will kill us too!” Wailing like a scalded cat, the mother turned from the bloody scene and dutifully ran after her husband. Trampduck chuckled with satisfaction, and tucked into the wholesome flesh of the mewling child. It was soon to be in the stomach of a very naughty duck.