Lisa Carnley is managing editor of the Lampasas Dispatch Record. People who read my columns (and I know there are one or two of you out there) know my favorite topics are my children, my grandson (additional grandchildren I hope to have one day -- think “pink”) and my dogs.

Looking at that list, I guess it could be construed that I am shallow or have a one-track mind.

But I really do have more interests than that; I just enjoy writing about those topics more than others. And the experiences I glean from my kids, grandson and pets continuously give me fodder for my Tuesday reflections.

So to dispel the myth that I can’t write about anything else, I will discuss something other than the aforementioned topics.

How about ducks? Specifically, the ones at W.M. Brook Park.

The ducks are hard to miss. They are a noisy, messy lot, and they leave behind remnants of their daily treks on sidewalks along Sulphur Creek.

That’s why I refuse to walk in the park anymore. I enjoy putting on my headphones and heading out, and I used to relish walking around the park. But I got tired of stepping in the duck mess and dodging the creatures that would come at me for closer inspection to see if I was made out of bread.

I made the mistake a couple of years ago of taking my lunch to the park. I found a bench and proceeded to unwrap a sandwich. That crinkling of the paper was a beacon to every duck in the park that there was actually someone dumb enough to enter their domain with food in hand.

The birds descended upon me faster than you can say “What’s up, duck?” and that was the end of my lunch -- but the beginning of theirs.

I ended up feeding my sandwich to the masses so I could escape with my body parts intact. I have no doubt the ducks would have taken the food from my hands and even rummaged in my purse for crumbs if I had let them get close enough. I didn’t. I just threw the food at them and made haste.

That’s one of the reasons I don’t walk in the park -- even without food.

At first, I was foolish enough to walk without protection, then I decided to carry a stick with me. I had to use it on several occasions to wave at the ducks to show them I had every intention of protecting myself from a possible attack. I know, I probably have made it sound worse than it is. I don’t know that they actually would attack, but I wasn’t about to let them get any closer than arm’s length to find out their intentions -- especially after having been imperiled earlier for a peanut butter sandwich.

The next time I go for a walk, I will do so around my neighborhood because the dogs that run around off-leash don’t seem as unpredictable as the ducks in the park.

And I won’t be taking my grandson to the park anytime soon. He’s always carrying some sort of food treat with him and with his Rice Krispy bar in hand, he would be an easy mark for the downy critters.

There, I did it again. I wasn’t going to write about my grandson this time. I just can’t seem to help myself. It’s a grandmother’s curse, and one that I hope to be plagued with for the rest of my days.