Imagine a small, old-fashioned bar. It’s the kind of place where the wooden sign outside makes a soft creaking sound when the wind blows. Inside, the air is warm and smells like old wood and spilled beer. A duck, yes, a real duck, walks right through the door. He waddles, just like ducks do, and hops up onto a stool at the bar. He looks around, then in a voice that’s surprisingly clear, he says, “I’d like a pint of your local ale, please, and a ham sandwich.”

The bartender, a big man with a thick mustache that curls up at the ends, stops what he’s doing. He looks at the duck, then looks again. “Wait a minute!” he says, his voice full of surprise. He picks up a glass and starts polishing it with a cloth. “You’re… a duck!”

The duck looks at him. “My eyesight’s just fine, thank you very much,” he says calmly.

The bartender’s eyebrows go up so high they almost disappear under his hat. “And you can talk!” he says, nearly dropping the glass he’s holding.

“Indeed,” the duck says, “And I think your hearing is working well, too. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d really like my beer and sandwich.”

“Oh, right, of course! Sorry about that,” the bartender says, trying to act normal. He starts pouring the duck’s beer. “It’s just… we don’t see ducks in here very often. What brings you to this part of town?”

“I’m working on the building site across the street,” the duck explains, taking a sip of his beer. “I’m a plasterer.”

The bartender is completely amazed. He can hardly believe what he’s hearing. He wants to ask a million questions, but he sees the duck has pulled a newspaper from his bag and is reading it. So, he decides to wait.

For the next two weeks, the duck comes to the bar every day. He orders the same thing, reads his newspaper, and then goes back to work. The bartender, even though he’s still surprised, gets used to seeing the duck.

Then, one day, a circus comes to town. They set up their big tent in a field nearby. The ringmaster, a loud and colorful man with a tall hat and a big laugh, comes into the bar for a drink. The bartender remembers the duck and says to the ringmaster, “You’re with the circus, right? Well, I know a duck who would be perfect for your show! He talks, drinks beer, eats sandwiches, reads the newspaper – everything!”

“That sounds wonderful!” the ringmaster says, giving the bartender his business card. “Tell him to call me.”

The next day, the duck comes in for his usual. The bartender, excited to help, says, “Hey, Mr. Duck, I think I have a great chance for you, with a really good job.”

“I’m always interested in new chances,” the duck says, folding his newspaper. “What is it?”

“It’s with the circus!” the bartender says, showing off.

“The circus?” the duck asks, looking confused.

“That’s right!” the bartender says.

“The circus?” the duck asks again, still confused. “You mean the one with the big tent?”

“Yes, exactly!” the bartender says.

“With all the animals in cages, and the people living in trailers?” the duck asks.

“That’s the one!” the bartender says.

“And the tent is made of cloth, with a big cloth roof and a hole in the middle?” the duck asks.

“Yes, that’s right!” the bartender says, wondering where this is going.

The duck shakes his head and says, “What in the world would they need a plasterer for?”