I’m not entirely sure I know how it all started.
My best recollection is that — as a joke — my youngest brother presented me with a themed rubber duck as a Christmas present many, many years ago. That first one wound up following me to the office and became the cornerstone of a shelf I have full of small knick knacks and other toys, totally in keeping with how I lean on my inner child while working my day job. Besides, who wants to visit with someone who has a bookcase full of tomes on database structures or procedural languages, anyway? My space is far more interesting, I assure you. (And yes, I do actually have those books, but they are hidden behind the flipper door of my cabinet to help keep up appearances.)
One duck led to another the following Christmas, then more appeared on birthdays or other occasions; soon, the two of us began hunting for cooler and stranger variations. Reindeer ducks. Firefighter ducks. Minion ducks. Chef, Santa and pumpkin ducks. Pirates, bunnies and vampire ducks. I thought perhaps we might have hit the outer limit when a giant ceramic bank version took up residence on my desk, but that was before I stumbled onto the Star Trek themed ducks; now Mister Squawk is happily ensconced beside a scowling Klingon and a doctor-not-a-brick layer.
Now, as I sit at my writing desk and look at the army of critters surrounding my monitor, laptop and keyboard, I am forced to wonder if I might have gone a tad overboard. Much like tribbles, they seem to multiply faster than I can find space to house them, and yet I can’t imagine not having them around. Each one has a story or a memory; all are dear to me in ways that are hard to explain. There was a time when I’d not been able to fathom folks who collected spoons or shot glasses from places they had travelled; these days, I think I can understand slightly what the attraction had been all along.
Now, if you will excuse me, I need to see if I can score that limited edition Captain Kirk duck…