A Covenant for the Creature of the Lake Known as Old Duck
I, Mr. Old Duck, cherished plaything of Ms. Alexandra Kimball, age eight, do hereby solemnly vow, before all assembled legal parties, and with full sentient knowledge of my actions and decisions, to not fall apart or lose my literal head for as long as my owner, henceforth known as "Alex," is alive on this Earth.
The consequences of such an outcome — which naysayers claim, at risk of slander, is inevitable — would be dire.
My owner took possession of me when I was, if you'll pardon this lapse into a colloquial tone, and forgive the foul/fowl mixed metaphor, "a spring chicken." A fresh-faced, if not bushy-tailed, new "plushie" bequeathed to Alex around the approximate time of the vernal equinox (Easter) by her grandmother, "Nana," prior to Alex's first birthday.
At the time, I was known simply as: "Duck." For perhaps obvious reasons, my moniker has evolved and been updated in the record.
Since the beginning, I have provided, with no request for compensation or vacation days, constant companionship to my owner, including cameo appearances in all formal family portraits and 99.99 percent of Alex’s candid photos.
I have also been her steadfast bedmate, and shall not be held accountable for the miasma of years-old drool and other bodily detritus which suffuses my corpus not unlike the dirt cloud ever-present around the character of "Pig Pen" from the Peanuts cartoons.
To be clear, for this is a sensitive subject for me: the parties assembled here today do not hold me at fault for my stench, which all experts consulted have maintained is irremediable by washing machine or similar modern cleansing methods, due to my potential to disintegrate in a seafoam of Tide suds.
Nor do the parties begrudge me my appearance, the once lemon-yellow down gone dishwater-beige, the once-pert beak now bent oddly upward, the many cubic centimeters of internal fluff evaporated or squashed so that I now more closely resemble a wash rag than a duck, or any other extant creature of nature.
I understand that our concern here today is with keeping me whole. Therefore I, Mr. Old Duck, do hereby agree to the following terms:
While Alex is attending school, or engaged in any activity during which she is unable to partake of my customary omnipresent companionship, I vow to sit perfectly still, avoiding all motions or exercises that may further weaken the structural integrity of my threadbare neck and other weathered parts.
I am aware that the holes in my body are many and growing. I vow to avoid stretching or moving any part of me that may accelerate or exacerbate this. (My owner's mother has performed what she calls "surgery," with a large needle and yellow thread, several times in the past, only for the stitches to come undone, or be ripped apart by my owner, who claims this causes me pain; it does not, but her concern is appreciated. The mother is permitted to attempt this procedure again in the future, and to resort to any other “rescues” she deems necessary.)
I, Mr. Old Duck, much-loved comfort source gone wretched, beautiful still in the eyes of my owner, promise to do my best to stay the same as I am, to not age further, to freeze time, to never break her heart.
