Huckleberry Duck and his huddle-bud Tom Chickee are living vividly here at St. Holiday's Avian Sanctuary (SHAS). Thanks to a carefully prescribed diet and a life of ease, they have each doubled in size, as the pictures attest. Huckleberry, we have learned, is a Crested Duck, a very fine specimen of that preferred variety. His inseparable friend, Tom, has been classified by our highly-educated poultry experts as "some kind of chicken, either male or female." In the process of rapid growth, Tom is losing his/her pink Easter dye. We hesitate to call him yellow, inasmuch as none of the birds at SHAS has ever shown any other disposition than raw courage. So, to the staff here at the sanctuary, Tom is merely bright. St. Holiday has spent so much time working with Huckleberry, he has developed a severe case of Duck Butt in his hair. This tragic condition may be attractive to female ducks, but the Lovely One thinks he now looks like a "clueless dweeb," whatever that may mean. Of course, the saint was always revered for his ideals and not for his remarkable lack of physical charisma. The enlightened recognize that the spirit of the chicken flock speaks through him and motivates the masses. Huckleberry and Tom love to spend time outside their pen, when staff is available to watch over them. In the evening, just after sunset, they follow the hens into the Chicken Catchatorium to bed down for the night in the straw. Updates will be posted every so often.
In completely unrelated news, informed sources, speaking strictly off the record, revealed that the imminently-eminent poet, philosopher and holy man, St. Holiday, has received numerous death threats from a certain Middle Eastern terrorist organization. Apparently, the recent PBS program, "Tour de la Monasterio de Santo Holiday," showed that the saint's toilet, known as "the Throne," faces toward Mecca, a gross insult to Muslims everywhere. As a precaution, St. Holiday will be spending the evenings in his secret bunker, located in his backyard, over by the corn patch, seventeen feet west of the patio, under the sign saying, "Private Shelter, Knock Before Entering."
