Lucy's Journal

Lucy’s Journal

January 28, 2026

Today was supposed to be peaceful snowfall appreciation day. You know—sit by the window, sip something warm (figuratively), and judge the birds for bad life choices. Instead, it turned into the Great Backyard Snowball Battle, and I am still emotionally—and physically—recovering.

It all started innocently enough. Kiwi fluffed up on the porch rail, looking smug as ever, and said, “Lucy, you ever notice how snow just begs to be thrown?” That should have been my warning. Peanut was already packing snow with those sneaky little paws of his, pretending he was “just testing the texture.” Uh-huh. Sure you were.

Next thing I know—WHAP!—first snowball hits my side. Absolute betrayal.

Quackers One and Quackers Two were running drills like this was some kind of duck boot camp, sliding across the yard and launching snowballs with alarming accuracy. Peanut took the high ground by the steps, cackling like a villain. Kiwi acted as aerial support, shouting directions like, “Aim for the tail! The tail’s the weak spot!”

EXCUSE ME.

Do you know what happens when a dignified, fluffy-tailed lady runs through fresh snow during a battle? SNOWBALLS. STUCK. TO. MY. TAIL. Not just one or two—no. A whole cluster. I looked like a walking snow chandelier.

I tried shaking them off. Didn’t work. I tried rolling. Worse idea. Peanut laughed so hard he fell over, and Kiwi called it “modern art.” RUDE.

Eventually the battle ended when I sat down dramatically and refused to move until everyone acknowledged my suffering. Peanut offered an apology (half-hearted). Kiwi offered to “help” by pecking the snowballs off (absolutely not). The Quackers paid reparations in the form of snacks.

I am now inside, thawing out, tail mostly restored to its former glory. But let it be known, Journal—
Next snowfall, I’m calling a truce… or I’m aiming first.

Snowy but still fabulous,
Lucy 🐾