"Ducks, Sunglasses, and a Jail Cell: A Small-Town Comedy"
One sunny afternoon in a quiet little town, Officer Jenkins was out on patrol when he spotted something bizarre rolling down Main Street—a rusty old pickup truck with its bed absolutely overflowing with ducks. Dozens of them, all quacking, waddling, and flapping their wings as they enjoyed the ride like they were on a field trip.
Officer Jenkins flipped on his lights and pulled the truck over.
He approached the window, and there sat an old man, grinning like he didn’t have a care in the world. His flannel shirt was half-buttoned, and a straw hat sat crooked on his head.
“Sir,” Jenkins said, trying to keep a straight face, “you can’t drive around town with a flock of ducks in the back of your truck. This isn’t a parade.”
The old man gave a thoughtful nod. “I hear ya, officer.”
“You need to take those ducks to the zoo, immediately,” Jenkins added firmly.
The old man tipped his hat. “Yes, sir. Right away.”
Satisfied, Jenkins let him go and drove off.
But the very next day, while sipping his morning coffee and walking out of the donut shop, Jenkins nearly choked on a jelly-filled when he saw that same pickup truck chugging down Main Street again—still overflowing with ducks. But this time… every single duck was wearing sunglasses.
Officer Jenkins nearly dropped his coffee.
He jumped into his cruiser, flipped the sirens on, and pulled the truck over again. He stormed up to the driver’s side window.
“Sir!” he barked. “I told you yesterday to take those ducks to the zoo!”
The old man beamed, clearly pleased with himself. “Oh, I did! Took ‘em straight there. But wouldn’t you know it? They loved it so much, they wanted to go someplace new today. So now we’re headed to the beach! Gotta let the little fellas live a little, right?”
Jenkins blinked. The ducks in the back gave what sounded like approving quacks.
Before he could even respond, his radio crackled—another call coming in.
Just a few blocks away, another officer had pulled over a man for speeding down Main Street. Officer Mallory had the guy handcuffed in the back of the cruiser and was muttering under her breath as she read his license.
“But officer,” the man in cuffs had tried to explain earlier, “I swear I have a really good reason—”
“Save it,” she snapped. “You were going 45 in a 25 zone, and I’m not in the mood. You can explain it to the chief when he gets back from his daughter’s wedding.”
“I am the groom!” the man yelled, but she had already slammed the door.
Later that afternoon, Officer Jenkins walked past the holding cell and noticed the man pacing inside, still dressed in a tuxedo, tie loosened and boutonnière wilted.
“You’re in luck,” Jenkins said with a smirk. “The chief will be back soon—and he’s bound to be in a good mood after the wedding.”
The man gave him a long, exhausted look. “Don’t count on it. I’m the one who’s supposed to marry his daughter. She’s probably threatening to kill him right now.”
Jenkins let out a low whistle and shook his head. “Yup… small towns sure don’t disappoint.”
Moral of the story:
Always listen to the police...
...and maybe don’t trust ducks in sunglasses or a bride’s father with a badge.