Permit me to introduce myself.
I am Duck Jeeves, and I am a duck’s duck.
My employer, a Mr. D. Wooster, is an amiable sort of creature. Blonde, with blue eyes and a rather perky tilt to his beak, Duckie Wooster is the sort of bright spirit who easily floats though life.
I, on the other hand, was cast from a sterner mold. My painted feathers are flat and dark, and while Mr. D. W. assures me that he finds the effect pleasing I cannot claim to suit the modern fashion in bath accessories. When I say as much my master bobs over to reassure me that he would have no other companion. I answer always that I feel the same.
It is a joy to share a bath towel with Mr. D. W. Although he is given to getting himself into rather soapy situations, that is never his own fault but rather that of his friends. Seemingly they have no end of reasons to end up in hot water.
My employer tries to lend a wing or a prayer, but often finds he is over his head in their emotional currents.
When that happens, it is incumbent on myself to float over and put my beak in before the whole affair goes hopelessly down the drain.
No matter how much confusion follows in his wake I am forever loyal to my young duckling.
Once we have been fished out of the suds (quite often by the human Jeeves, although that is another story not to be gone into now) and set back onto our cozy nitch, D. W. waggles his perky tail, gives forth that special squeak, and my heart is again lost between the bath sheets.
I know. You are shocked at the suggestion that we might be ducking like animals once the humans turn off the lights.
We always use rubber.