Duck Lake crown of thorns

It wasn't that Ira was afraid of dirt, per say, for he had been known to return to his uncle looking like some kind of swamp monster. And to the best of his knowledge the mud hadn't been tainted by poop - but then again he hadn't really known. This ...this was measurably different than romping through a mud puddle, though. He could be pooped on by ducks of which he had astutely deemed as enemies. He did not like them and probably they did not like him, either. Which suited Ira extremely well. The woman mirrored his grin, and he turned his attention to the ducks then, lowering his front half, his butt wiggling in the air with some semblance of eagerness. She lunged first at them, the sound of her teeth snapping together echoing for a few seconds before Ira lunged after her, mimicking the snapping, the loud protests from the avians beating out the rapidity of his heartbeat. Zooming in on one duck in particular he snapped his jaws closed around a few tail feathers which released from the duck's body as it took flight. Ira paused attempting to spit out the feathers that clung to his tongue, his eyes almost crossing as he looked down his muzzle furiously trying to, futile though it was proving, free his mouth from the feathers.