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Thank you, friend!

It's Duck here! First of all, thank you. I'm so grateful to you for joining/continuing to be on my friend list! It means a duck of a lot to me. Also, here is the download link for your free copy of Behold The Ducking Snake Fiasco, by yours truly and Star Williams. 

In the meantime, I'm excited to send you my monthly letter from the pond, in which I share my personal duckie adventures. You're the best!

Loves ya,


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Unsure whether to download the book? Here's the opening:

It’s seven in the morning, but I don’t yet realize it’s snake o’clock. I get out of bed, being careful not to wake my peacock-partner Riley, and flipper-slap out to the kitchen. As usual, I slide my duck-sized coffee pod into Riley’s fancy PeaKeurig machine, then I go to get the duck-duck-milk. But when I open the fridge door, to my amazement, I see a pair of yellow snake-eyes staring back at me.

            WHAT THE DUCK?

            I let out a high-pitched quacker-scream. The snake screams too, coiling itself more tightly around my bottle of pondweed salad dressing. Neither of us shuts up for a ducking eternity. Once I’ve almost run out of scream-air, I slam the door and quack, “RILEY! RILEY?”

            After a moment, my peacock partner clips into the room, clattering their painted claws against the linoleum. As usual, their tail feathers drag along the floor, knocking one of the breakfast stools sideways. Riley’s wearing their red kimono, some smudged lipstick, and a befuddled look. “What’s wrong, Duck?” they ask with an unimpressed blink. “Did Duck find another spider?”

            “Riles, there’s a DUCKING SNAKE in the fridge!”

            “Uhuh,” agrees Riley. “And…?”

            “No, that’s the story,” I say, twice as peeved now. “There isn’t a more EXCITING END to the story. I’m not going to ducking HOLLYWOOD with the story. It just goes, ‘Duck opens fridge, sees snake, freaks the duck out, and STILL has no duck-milk.’”

            Riley rolls their eyes and opens the fridge. This time, I realize the fridge light hasn’t gone on.

            The snake looks at Riley. Riley looks at the snake. “Good morning, Lavinia,” says Riley. “How did Lavinia sleep?”

            “OMD,” I cry. “We know the snake’s name?”

            “Hi, Riley,” hisses Lavinia The-Snake-With-A-DUCKDARN-NAME, who APPARENTLY deserves a good night’s kip in our fridge. “Thankssszz for turning off the power. I was chilling my scales off in here. Any chance of a warm cup of tea?”

            “Give Riley a minute,” says Riley, closing the door. “It’s all right, Duck,” they say. “Remember how I told you that I, Riley the Marvelous, am going vegan and will no longer be eating snakes? Well, according to 1-800-SNACK-SNAKE, Riley can’t go vegan without giving them seven days’ notice.”

            Long story short, Riley’s snack-snakes, which they usually eat straight from the delivery box, will keep coming every day for the next six days—only now, Riley can’t actually eat them. And given that yours truly is a snake-phobe, this is far from a good thing.

You can download the full story here.

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