There once was a duck that had a very loud quack. It was louder than all the other ducks in its paddling (the clever name for a group of ducks). It would quack early in the morning, quack through lunch and quack till the bright golden sun set and all the other ducks tried (and failed) to get some shut eye.
The loud duck didn’t care, he just loved to quack.
One sunny morning some men with guns came to hunt the paddling. The ducks, who were no fools, hid in the rushes, behind rocks and right up close to the river bank so they could not be seen (like a scene from a tense police thriller).
The ducks could hear the men huffing and puffing as they became agitated and annoyed that today they would have no sport. That was until the duck that had a very loud quack awoke late (he’d been up all night quacking about something or other) and greeted the day with one of his biggest and loudest quacks ever.
The men were instantly alerted by this and systematically shot all the other ducks in the paddling.
Ironically only the duck with the very loud quack avoided the slaughter.
Once the men were gone and far away he mournfully paddled past the bloodied corpses of his fallen friends and family. It was then that he resolved to never quack again.
And he never did.