“Quack,” groked the duck.
“Thanks for understanding, feathery-friend. I appreciate that your parciloquy so effectively relays its intended meaning.”
“Quack, quack” quacked the duck.
“I am loath to feed you bread crumbs, billed-buddy, because, then, you may be perceived as oven-ready and that is a target you do not want on your tail.
*bite*, bit the duck.
“Ow-wow! I’m bleeding! You have broken skin with the wrong bibliopolist, damn-drake! I have access to volumes of the best foie-gras recipes and I am not afraid to use them!”
*curled*, curled the duck.
“Okay, look, I am sorry. Here are some sesame sticks. You may even come over and nest in my laundry room if you need a safe place–there is a basin in their, too. I value you very much and I will effort more into putting myself in your webbed feet.”
*nuzzle*, nuzzled the duck.