“When am I going to get grandchildren from you? When are you going to have kids? Am I going to die before you make me happy?” God, that was all Quack kept hearing from his mother these days. He just didn’t have the desire to procreate like everyone else did. Babysitting for the neighbors, he could admit that these little guys were cute at the moment, but it wouldn’t be long before they turned into eating, crying, pooping machines. No thank you, Mom. The old hen would just have to hope his sister would pop out a couple of eggs soon.