This reminds me of something that happened when I was a little kid. Sit back and have a cookie, kids -- it's story time...

My mother had taken my sister and me on a shopping trip to a farmers market one April before Easter. She was picking out some vegetables while we kids played in the dirt nearby. Some guy came up carrying a big cardboard box, pulled on my mom's sleeve, and said, "Those your kids?"

"Yes, they are," said my mother, wondering what kind of trouble we'd gotten into this time.

"Wanna get 'em a duck for Easter?" asked the guy with the box.

My mom did not want to get us a duck for Easter. She knew that we'd enjoy a cute little baby duckling for a few days, but it would eventually grow into a duck, and who wants a big stinky duck running around the house and pooping on the linoleum, right? "No," she said, "We've already got a dog."

"Oh, let 'em take a look, okay?" said the guy. He opened the box, and out leaped this full-grown, angry mallard that he'd apparently caught on a lake somewhere. It flapped its way out of the box, quacking loudly, jumped down to the ground, and took off through the crowd, its wings spread, nipping at anyone who got in its way. After terrorizing half the people at the farmers market, it escaped from the crowd, took to the air, and flew away.

By this time, the duck's "owner" had, of course, disappeared.

The people who owned the farmers market called the police, who apprehended the guy the next day trying to catch another duck at the duck pond at a local park.