Call of the wild

I love kids, and I love my friends' kids even more, because I can spoil them and prank their parents at the same time.

Well, turns out karma has a good memory--she came knocking when I got Mark. Some people, like my friend Nichole, couldn't fully repay my jokes. (I once gave her son a chocolate house and permission to eat it all--Nichole was bitterly disappointed to learn my son has diabetes.)

I also loved riling up Gillen, then returning him to his mom, my friend Jill, who never fully appreciated my efforts.

Jill appreciated my Christmas gifts even less. Her least favorite was the harmonica I gave Gillen when he was 4 or 5. I was wavering between the harmonica and a drum, but realized the harmonica was portable--Gillen could put it in his pocket and irritate his mom almost anywhere. To this day, just the word "harmonica" turns Jill into an angry, growling mess.

But Jill finally got her revenge this year. She bought Mark a duck call for Christmas.

Mark looooooved it. He immediately started blowing it all throughout the house. (Did he think ducks were hiding inside?) The reactions were swift and age-based.

I immediately clapped my hands over my ears and screamed.

Our older cat Frankie ran away in terror and hid.

Our enormous kitten Fernando was drawn to the noise, and came running toward Mark, who laughed with glee at the deranged sounds he was producing.

Even after I set down an "outside only" rule, Mark continued to blow that damned call in the house. He experimented with it, pursing his lips or blowing full throttle to make different sounds come out.

I figured the only way to beat him was to join him. So last weekend, we rode our bikes to a nearby park with a big duck-filled lake.

I wasn't sure what would happen, but I thought figured there were two likely scenarios. In the first, ducks would respond positively to the call, thinking there was a prospective mate in the area. Or, they would respond the exact opposite: arrive angry, territorial, ready to defend their homes or ducklings.

Either way would be funny, I reasoned, from a safe distance. 

I sent Mark to the lake's edge, where he started up his call. 

There were all sorts of birds around us--ducks, seagulls, a pelican and even a couple great blue herons. They remained completely uninterested.

So Mark switched tactics. He approached a large flock of birds (mullets?) grazing on land. They didn't respond to the call, but they did respond to Mark, gradually walking farther and farther away from him.

Mark was disappointed. He stuffed the duck call into his pocket and we rode home.

I thought that was the end of the duck call fiasco, but boy, was I wrong. The next night I ordered Mark into the shower.

"Just a quick one," I told him. "We have to leave in 20 minutes, so get in, and get out."

"OK," Mark agreed.

I heard the shower go on. He'd been in there about five minutes when suddenly, out of nowhere, the damned duck call went off. Instead of showering like I'd asked, Mark was in the bathroom goofing around with the duck call!

I pounded on the door, which Mark opened.

"Yes?" he asked, peeking around the door.

"Are you SERIOUS?" I yelled. "Stop playing with that damn duck call and GET IN THE SHOWER!"

"OK," Mark huffed. "Geez..."

He shut the door, then muttered just loud enough for me to hear, "It doesn't even work, anyway."

And that is where I begged to differ. Because yes, in fact, it does work. It may not call ducks, but it raises my blood pressure and annoys the crap out of me every time I hear it.

Which is precisely what my friend Jill was going for. So yes, Mark, it does work. It may not call ducks, but it works exactly how Jill intended it to--it drives me insane.

Well played, Jill. Well played.