The Royal Nova Scotian Duck Squadron

Not to be confused with a similar sounding (but no ducks) yacht club down the arm a way.

This is a small fleet of brown ducks, bobbing by, heads cocked sideways, avaricious looks in their eyes.

'What do you want to sacrifice, J?' I ask, going to one of his goody stores, this one in the oven. 'Muffins? Doughnuts? Cake? Cookies? For the ducks ...' as I extract some old stale bread behind his back.

He jumps round, aghast and disapproving. 'None!' he roars.

'You're such a child,' he says, taking a photo.