Baby Ducks Ate My Lunch Collection

Written by Charli Mills

Charli Mills, a born buckaroo, makes literary art accessible at She writes about the veteran spouse experience and women forgotten to history.

April 13, 2022

Welcome to Carrot Ranch Literary Community where creative writers from around the world and across genres gather to write 99-word stories. A collection of prompted 99-word stories reads like literary anthropology. Diverse perspectives become part of a collaboration.

We welcome encouraging comments. You can follow writers who link their blogs or social media.

Those published at Carrot Ranch are The Congress of Rough Writers.

What the Duck! by Greg Glazebrook

Bobby sat at the riverbank looking at her phone when she grabbed a nearby duckling and popped it between two slices of bread.

Angelina watched in horror as Bobby started to bite down on the quacking sandwich. “What’re you doing!?!?”

To the duckling’s relief, she pull the sandwich out and said, “Research for Carrot Ranch’s writing challenge.”

Angelina shot her a confused look…

See it says, “Write a story explaining why you ate baby ducks for lunch.”

“Ummm, no Bobby, it says ‘…explain baby ducks ate my lunch.’ You really need new strategies to keep your dyslexia in check!”


Disappeared 4 by Liz Husebye Hartmann

Andrew had been happy his first few years of life: just him, Mom, Dad. He was happy when Eloise was born, although Dad quickly faded out of the picture. Later came a stepdad, quickly followed up by the twin girls, Chuckie and Ducks.

Still, Andrew hoped they could all live peacefully together. The twins were almost cute before they became mobile. But once they started moving? Wow.

Toys? Attention? Food? The roaring twins claimed all, and were never at fault. The day Ducks ate his lunch, Eloise just stood by, cradling her own PB&J.

He knew all was lost.


Sweet Crocodile by Doug Jacquier

That skinny German tourist’s leg didn’t really agree with me yesterday. Mostly gristle and I’ve still got lederhosen stuck in my teeth. Parked the rest of him under a log for a few days to mature.

Still feeling a pit peckish. Saw a mother duck and brood floating past. I thought ‘Yum, baby ducks’. Ate my lunch and had a nap in the sun on the river bank. Later, mother duck came back searching for her ducklings. She looked so distressed I put her out of her misery.

Sentimental I know but that’s just the sweet guy I am.


Aloysius Loses His Lunch by Nancy Brady

One afternoon Aloysius met the pigs at the duck pond. The pigs loved to soak in the cool water although that wasn’t the white cat’s idea of fun.

He avoided getting soaked if he could, but sometimes it was unavoidable. The ducklings splashed everyone in their quest for food.

Their appetites were voracious; they were eating everything in sight including Aloysius’s kibble. Because of their splashing, he was cleaning water droplets off his fur. He finished his bath, turned to eat, but discovered his lunch was gone.

“You ate my lunch,” he said, but the ducklings just quacked up.


A Fine Lunch by Saifun Hassam

One spring day at the lagoon, I shared a fallen log with five ducklings. I was frequently there in the spring, sketching the changing scenery from mallards, coots, goldeneyes, and regal swans to the unexpected appearance of wood ducks.

The baby ducks huddled near one end of the log. I sat at the other end. Curious, they waddled over, pecking at my boots and backpack. Two studied my sketch of cygnets. The “lunch” bag of fruit and nuts fell off the log. For a few seconds, they were startled. I sketched away as the ducklings tasted this fine food.


Baby Ducks Ate My Lunch by Norah Colvin

A wail fractured the picture-perfect ‘Freedom Day’, the first outing since lockdown began aeons ago.
Father’s mind wandered like the lonely cloud contrasted against the vivid sky, contemplating nothing—no lessons, no video calls, no demands for something to eat or do. Mother absentmindedly stroked his hair as she inhaled the freshness of the sunshine and the scent of nearby gardenias. The children entertained themselves—what luxury—feeding ducks with days-old bread.
The wail amplified, like an approaching train, finally demanding Father’s and Mother’s attention. “What’s wrong?”
“Baby ducks ate my lunch,” wailed the younger. The older one shrugged.


Baby Ducks Vs Me by Sadje

Mom always gave me something to eat when I went out every day. I placed my packet on the bench for safekeeping.
I didn’t pay any heed to the fact that it was now spring season and all kind of baby animals were making their appearances. Our goat had her kids and the duck who had been guarding her clutch of eggs for the last four weeks was now parading around with a row of fluffy ducklings in tow.
Imagine my shock when reaching for my lunch, all I found were baby ducks busy nibbling my sandwich and cookies.


Foul Deeds by Geoff Le Pard

Little Tittweaking’s local paper, The Devourer tended to the sensational. Headline’s such as Marchibanks Hazmat Made My Toes Radioactive and Alien’s Invaded My Breakfast were commonplace. When Dubious Pendragon, active in the Votes For Foul campaign that sought representation for the local minorities of waterbirds made the front page, it was a sensational report, quoting her as having said she had had the Mallards for lunch. She was livid, demanding an immediate correction. ‘I didn’t eat them,’ she fumed. ‘I invited their family for a chickweed pie and chat. Seeing the fledglings clean their plates was a delight.’


Baby Ducks Ate Your Lunch! by Joanne Fisher

“Aw! Look at those baby ducks. So cute!” Cindy exclaimed. “Here we go my cuties.”

“What are you doing?” Jess asked.

“Feeding them my sandwiches.”

“You shouldn’t be feeding ducklings bread. It’s not good for them.”

“What should I be feeding them?” Cindy asked.

“Corn, peas, rice. Stuff like that.” Jess informed her.

“We don’t have that in our picnic basket.” Cindy continued feeding them her food.

“Well I tried…”

Some time later Cindy rummaged through the picnic basket. “I’m still hungry, but there’s no food left.” she complained.

“That’s because you fed your lunch to the baby ducks.”


Bon Appetit by Colleen Chesebro

“Mom, Hancock ate my lunch again.”

Stacy placed her hands on her hips, and I noted the teenage angst and attitude in her stance.

“Hancock gets hungry. He has a tough job guarding the henhouse, you know.”

“What about me? I’m hungry too!” She stomped off.

Stacy could wait. I didn’t need another sick dog.

I stepped outside into a cold Michigan rain. Napkins littered the grass near the henhouse. Hancock was nowhere in sight. Darn dog.

That’s when I spotted a waddle of fluffy baby ducks devouring the remains of Stacy’s lunch.

Bon Appetite, I laughed.


Growing Duckies by Kerry E.B. Black

The plate hosted crumbs, remnants of a delicious PB&J on homemade white bread. Sonia looked at her small charge, eyebrows raised.

“Any idea what happened to my sandwich?”

Four-year-old Patty considered the matter with the innocence of a saint. Her mouth formed a little “o” of surprise, dislodging tiny golden flakes when she shook her head. “I bet it was the duckies.”


“Uh huh. They must have been really hungry.”

“Where do the duckies live?”

Patty opened wide and pointed between her lips.

“I’ll make another sandwich. You want one?”

“No.” Patty smiled. “But the duckies do.”


A Central Park Caper by Sue Spitulnik

Michael and Tessa stopped in a bakery and bought two huge croissants. They then went out into the sunshine and hailed a carriage to take them to Central Park, where they got dropped off. Finding an empty bench near the turtle pond, they sat to people watch. Michael set the bakery bag on the ground. They became so engrossed enjoying the noisy children making a fuss over the turtles and ducks they didn’t notice a Mama duck steal their bag. Tessa heard paper tearing, turned to look, and exclaimed, “I guess the ducklings are going to eat our lunch.”


Quack by Michael Fishman

The baby ducks they ate my lunch
and I really can’t explain it.

The thought is so upsetting
that I will not entertain it.

My food, my food, my food, mine!
Leave it alone and we’ll be fine.

Those baby ducks, bright yellow,
oh they looked so doggone sweet.

But they ate my peanut butter
like it was warm grub meat.

My food, my food, my food, mine!
Leave it alone and we’ll be fine.

The moral of this ditty
(if it really does require it)
is to leave my food alone. Why?
Oh! Just cuz I desire it.


Learning Curve by D. Avery

“You’re keeping that Pickett boy after school? Don’t waste your time. Picketts are lazy liars. He actually says that a goat eats his homework.”

“It’s plausible,” said Mrs. K. “His family does raise animals.”

“You mean they live in a pigsty. And today in the cafeteria he wouldn’t eat, just sat there, said he usually brings lunch from home but that baby ducks ate it. Baby ducks!”

Mrs. K sighed as her colleague left. Then she went to her snack drawer, more concerned with what the ducks ate than what the goat ate, whether there were ducks or not.


Miss Parker by Gloria McBreen

Miss Parker is a nice teacher. When I told her I lost my coat pockets, she knew I lied. She knew my mammy sewed them up.
When I told her I lost the gloves she knitted for me, she knew my mammy took them.
And when I told her that the baby ducks ate my lunch, she knew I didn’t have any in the first place.
When I told her my mammy was gone away to find my daddy; she knew it wasn’t true. She knew my mother was gone for good.
I like my new mammy, Miss Parker.


Off to the Pond by E.A. Colquitt

I like to walk here in spring. The world is awake, but not with any dizzying summer heat. It’s a time of freshness – and youth.

‘Think we’ll see a duckling, buddy?’

‘A what?’

‘A duckling. Baby ducks. Look! There’s some, now.’

They flow along the pavement as if still in the water, chasing their mother’s wake. She knows the safest way home: the zebra crossing. Its golden beacons match her babies’ coats.

We follow. The pond lies by a bench, where anyone can eat. Today’s lunch is rice, peas, and sweetcorn. You like to share it with the ducks.


Fear of Flying by Anne Goodwin

A line of custard-yellow pom-poms waddling to the water: those ducklings are braver than me. I envy them a mother they can place their trust in: she’ll ensure they can float before they take wing.

I’ve let Simon think I’m scared of flying, when my terror is of drowning in shame. So we sit on this bench between the tennis courts and boating pool, not eating our sandwiches, chewing over everything save why I can’t follow him, why I can’t board a plane. I wish I could be better, kinder, more generous. I feed the baby ducks my lunch.


Baby Ducks Ate My Lunch by Scott Bailey

My LUNar CHief (LUNCH for short) gave the ok to open the hatch. I led LUNCH and DESSERT (DEfense and SEaRTch team captain) from the lander to explore this giant world.

Green grass tall as trees, pebbles big as boulders. Bright blue sky, air clear and warm. Idyllic and peaceful, I thought, until I saw them.

Giant fluffy yellow bipedal beings. They saw us too, and all heck broke loose! We ran for the spaceship but they closed upon us. LUNCH tripped and fell but DESSERT and I dove into the ship and took off. The giants ate LUNCH.


Duckling Survival Guide by Gypsie~Ami Offenbacher-Ferris

“These creatures are quite ruthless in their pursuit of breakfast, lunch or dinner. They will not give up until they have a tasty treat in their little beaks; mainly me! They are ravenous little beings whose only purpose on this Earth is to eat me and those like me.

My name is Georgio Piccolo Francis Worm and I am, a worm. Thus the name. I’ve survived the longest, so was chosen to teach the little wormettes how to remain free of a certain death by mastication, although the little chicks do not actually chew how horrible to be …. Aheeeeeeeeeeee!!!”


Baby Duck and Cover by Bill Engleson

Some days I get so hungry.
I have been expecting this all my life.
You know, expecting it like three squares
but knowing it was beyond the pale.
I mean, sure, we knew about…
So many dead we couldn’t count them.
The way bodies get fused.
It couldn’t happen again,
radioactive dust swirls towards me.
A ditty comes to mind:
“Hey, my baby, duck and cover,
I didn’t think she’d be so loud.
Hey, my baby, lets discover
the pleasures of a nuclear shroud.
Hey, my baby, meet my atomic lover,
she’s a beautiful mushroom cloud.”


Ducklings Dine by Ann Edall-Robson

Walking along the water to the spot she had left her belongings, the young woman didn’t know who was more surprised when she came upon ducklings scattering like fluff in the wind. Their trail, marked by the waving grass and the sound of rustling reeds before hearing a plop, plop, plop. Miniature tsunami waves pushed back to the shore where they’d jumped from the bank into the water. Seeing their mother waddling away with a crust of bread in her mouth, she knew they had all come ashore to dine on her lunch she’d left behind in her pack.


Trip and Fall by Christine Bialczak

Walking from work was better for my wallet. Sometimes I would walk through the park. Today was one of those days.
I didn’t see the root sticking up from the sidewalk. Next thing I knew I was falling forward, hoping to catch my fall, watching all of the contents of my bag fly out in front of me. Without a minute to think a baby duck rushed to my bag, and grabbing the sandwich with its tiny beak, ate my whole sandwich! Luckily I was headed home. Now I needed a few bandaids, a nap, and a new lunch!


Caring is Sharing by JulesPaige

Blond wee ducks from the mud
Fair their gold down plume
Soft cheep their voice press; spare some fine bread crumb please
From the lake, blond we ducks
Down plume fair and gold

Ma would have us eat worms
They slide down bland like
Old mush, we want your lunch won’t you share, be kind
Be gone bland, shoe lace taste
No more worms for us

From my own perch, big sigh
How could I not share
So bit by bit I tore lose my home made bread
their beaks did grab and gulp
Big sigh, wee ducks ate!


One Memorable Day by Duane L Herrmann

It was a memorable day. I looked out my bedroom window and saw cows in the front yard. They didn’t belong there, but where? A neighbor’s gate was open, he wasn’t home, and I was able to lure them back in. A passing bird was too excited and splattered on my head. There had been no time for breakfast so I tried for lunch instead. After it was ready, a phone emergency arose and took an hour to resolve. While sorting out the crisis, baby ducks came from the pond and ate my lunch. I went back to bed!


Mottle Behavior by Frank James

Mottled Ducks swooped onto the retention pond where I ate lunch, feeding a gaggle of Muscovy Ducks. Ducklings scattered. One scampered into cattails. Emaciated Mottles paddled in the water.
I left my lunch on the bench walking to the cattails hollering, “Ducky! Ducky!” Mama duck honked at me and herded ducklings, flushing the rogue out. She pecked him on the head, and we all waddled to the bench.
There, the Mottles flopped backwards, holding their bellies. One almost had a smile.
I looked at the bench with litter shredded. Confused, I reached for lunch to see I was robbed.


Sweet Bribe by Simon

Ducks! he yelled.
What ?
They ate my lunch.
Why did you feed them our food?
It’s not intentional, they just ate it.
The duck from the pond left their fishes and ate bread?
You think I’m making a story?
Yes you are, you came home after years of service to the nation, and this is what you do? lie to your wife?
She and her bread… he murmured
It tasted good!
So you shared them? right?
Honey! forget it, how about these french fries, chicken wings.
I hate Bribes, but, it’s sweet!
No! it’s spicy! (Giggles)., that’s sweet.


Chaos in the Home Office by Gary A. Wilson Stories

“Hi Michael, thanks for the zoom conference. I’m just starting lunch.”
“No worries. We’re anxious to get you back in the office. How’s the forecast?”
“All ready to scan.”
“Wonderful. Can… “
“Daddy, mommy needs you.”
“Sorry. Give me a sec.”
“Hello Lilly. Who’s that?”
“He’s, Bertie, my duckling. Nooo — Morris! Get out — bad doggy.”
“Lilly, don’t leave Bertie… Lilly?
“Martin! Can you hear me? Bertie’s destroying your desktop.”

– – = = * = = – –

“Okay; I’m… W-what’s this…? Bertie! Out with you!
“Michael, let me salvage what’s left and I’ll be there in an hour.”


Peaceful Easy Feedin by D. Avery

“Was down ta the creek, Pal. Jist watchin the river flow, all peaceful.”

“Hmmf. Doin thet Kid-hartha thing agin. Was the north goin ducks still there?”

“Nope, all flown on, cept fer a momma mallard an her ducklins.”

“Cain’t be, ain’t been time fer thet.”

“Power a fiction, Pal, suspen yer disbelief. Anyways, that’s where the peace come from. Ducklins peepin, ‘Peace, peace, peace’. I watched. Fed em my lunch.”

“Thet was foolish.”

“I kin spare it. Thinkin if hope is the thing with feathers, it must start out downy soft like a ducklin, swimmin afore flyin. Worth feedin.”


Thank you to all our writers who contributed to this week’s collection!

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  1. pedometergeek

    This week’s collection was just ducky! These variety of these stories made me smile so much. ~nan

  2. Colleen Chesebro: WordCraftPoetry

    I was struck by how different the stories were. We all embraced those ducks differently. Well done, everyone. <3

  3. Scott Bailey

    Great stories. So many different ways to interpret the prompt. Lots of imagination on display here. I think my favorites would be Dougs’ Crocodile and Gypsies’ Worm, two takes on lunch I didn’t see coming. Great job, everyone!

    • Doug Jacquier

      Many thanks, Scott.

  4. Charli Mills

    I laughed out loud at many of these stories, and had to put Greg Glazebrook’s first because I think that might have been on the minds of those who took on this prompt. I enjoyed the baby ducks that waddled through each story and the twists on who was eating what. I also marveled at the ideas that emerged from others. My favorite line this week come from Anne Goodwin:

    “A line of custard-yellow pom-poms waddling to the water: those ducklings are braver than me.”

    First, the imagery is surprising and yet spot-on. But what makes the imagery work is how Anne uses it to set up the crux of the story — the fear a protagonist wrestles with, contrasting with the imagery.

    Great collection, Writers!

  5. Doug Jacquier

    No rubber duckies this week. Enjoyed these particular piece s of the morsels coil.

    Greg was pure dysquaxia
    Liz had no rest for St. Andrew
    Nancy, so sweet and funny
    Geoff, as mallardroit as usual
    Kerry, clever, cute and hilarious
    Michael, rhyme and meter, what’s not to like
    D, loved your Mrs K.
    Gloria, great take on the prompt, so cleverly written and poignant
    EA, great line: ‘the zebra crossing. Its golden beacons match her babies’ coats.’
    Anne, loved ‘A line of custard-yellow pom-poms waddling to the water’
    Scott, inspired sci-fi hilarity, acronyms and all
    Gypsie, I’m adding ‘wormettes’ to my lexicon
    Bill, taking us to an important place somewhere near Ukraine, I believe
    Jules, sweetness and art personified
    Frank, ‘the Mottles flopped backwards, holding their bellies’. A gem of in image.

    • E.A. Colquitt

      Thank you, Doug! I found your story both funny and disturbing at the same time – I kept thinking of Roald Dahl 🙂

      • Doug Jacquier

        Why, does he eat baby ducks too? 🙂


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