Everyone’s talking shite. I’m just breathing it in.

If you’ve ever worked in an agency, you’ve heard it a thousand times: “Get your ducks in a row.” Like some sacred incantation, whispered in status calls, scrawled across meeting minutes, echoed by managers who have never actually paddled in the pond. But have you ever considered the ducks’ perspective?

We are the ducks. And the pond? It is chaos.

The Mother Duck Whistles.

Every morning, we wake to the whistle of the mother duck — our project lead. “Ducks, in a row!” they honk. Some of us waddle left, some right. Some dive under lily pads to avoid the kickoff meeting entirely. Meanwhile, the client goose watches from the bank, honking about alignment, deliverables, and whether the ducks are “on message.”

The mother duck never actually paddles herself — she delegates honking to us. But we’re expected to form perfect lines, hold positions, and flap synchronously. Even when half the team is asleep from last night’s 11pm WIP session.

Chaos Below the Surface.

One duck pecks nervously at the RAG report, trying to convince everyone the timeline isn’t on fire. Another waddles over the backlog spreadsheet, quacking at tasks that have been waiting approval for weeks. A third flaps violently at burn reports, revenue forecasts, and team utilisation, tossing slides into the air like breadcrumbs, hoping the mother duck notices the vision and the goose agrees before it sinks

Creative ducks sketch, revise, and re-sketch concepts faster than a hedgehog on espresso. Messaging ducks juggle client emails, Slack pings, and cryptic voice notes left at 7am from a client in another timezone. Account ducks attempt triage on a battlefield of contradictory approvals. One unlucky duck negotiates resource allocation with the studio manager, a swan of terrifying stature who remembers every missed deadline from three projects ago.

Flapping Through Feedback.

Feedback arrives in waves — sometimes polite, sometimes venomous, always contradictory. One duck presents the concept, and the client goose honks, “We love it — but actually, do the opposite.” Another duck attempts to merge two conflicting visions into one coherent concept. Chaos becomes performance art.

Intern ducklings are sent to gather research. They return with random PDFs, inspirational quotes, and a single, soggy bread crumb they think represents “innovation.” Meanwhile, senior ducks debate whether to flag scope creep or pretend it’s a “strategic pivot.” The mother duck nods wisely, then ducks out to another meeting, leaving the pond in panic.

Deadlines, Dive-Bombs, and Duckling Panic.

As launch day approaches, deadlines collapse like a poorly stacked Jenga tower. Ducks crash into lily pads. Ducks dive under leaves. Some flap wildly to keep ideas alive; some simply float, hoping no one notices. A creative duck tries to finish a deck while simultaneously updating a live storyboard, fielding client calls, and quacking motivational mantras at the team.

The client goose honks incessantly from the bank: “Are the ducks aligned? Where are the ducks?” Meanwhile, internal dashboards show 120% utilisation, because apparently, creativity isn’t included in the 80–90% baseline. Every duck is exhausted, wings blistered, and still paddling like fury, because that’s how projects happen in the wild.

The Illusion of Neatness.

And yet, somehow, it launches. Maybe it’s brilliant. Maybe it’s functional chaos. But it’s done. “Ducks in a row” sounds tidy. It is not. Projects are messy. Clients don’t align. Teams are overworked. And the absurdity? That is exactly why it works.

Because the ducks keep paddling. The mother duck keeps whistling. The client goose keeps honking. And somewhere between the flapping, pecking, and spreadsheet drowning, something gets delivered.

So next time someone lectures about alignment, synergy, or “ducks in a row,”consider the pond: one mother duck whistling, one client goose honking, a row of ducks flapping, diving, and pecking at reports — and somehow, it works.

— Tom Kite.