A duck walked into a neighborhood bar one afternoon, hopped onto a stool and looked directly at the bartender.

“Do you have duck food here?”

The bartender blinked.

He had been asked for beer, whisky, peanuts and occasionally directions to the bathroom.

Duck food was a first.

“No,” he replied.

The duck nodded politely, hopped down and left.

The next afternoon, the door opened again.

In waddled the same duck.

It climbed onto the same stool.

“Do you have duck food?”

The bartender sighed.

“No.”

The duck left.

The following day, right around the same time, the bartender heard familiar little footsteps approaching.

He looked toward the door.

The duck.

Again.

“Do you have any duck food?”

Now the bartender had had enough.

He slammed his hand on the counter.

“I already told you ‘No’ twice! If you come back and ask me again, I’m going to nail your feet to the floor!”

The duck stared at him for a moment.

Then quietly waddled away.

The bartender smiled.

Finally, problem solved.

But the next afternoon, the door opened.

The duck walked in.

The bartender stared at him in disbelief.

The duck climbed onto the stool and calmly asked,

“Do you have any nails?”

The bartender frowned.

“No.”

The duck nodded.

“Do you have any duck food?”