Mike the mallard bobbed on the surface of the pond, the early November wind whipping through his feathers. Driven by an empty gizzard, Mike plunged toward the silted bottom. Halfway down he encountered a rather large bass which caused him to backpedal a bit then come to a full upright position under water. The bass, equally startled, came to a dead stop. The two stared at each other for a few awkward seconds before Mike broke the silence with a little small talk.
“Boy, this water sure is cold today.” He observed.
To which the bass replied, “What water?”