Seattle is so wet that people protect their property with watch-ducks.

The persistent gray drizzle of Seattle had become something of a civic legend, a daily patter on windowpanes and a constant companion to locals. While some embraced the emerald tapestry of forests and parks that thrived under the Northwest's temperate rain, others found the unrelenting moisture a constant challenge. Particularly frustrating was the damage caused to property by unpredictable downpours, from flooded basements to soggy gardens and clogged drains. These persistent problems had led to an unusual solution, one that stemmed from an age-old symbiotic relationship: watch-ducks.

Across the city, perched on docks, windowsills, and even front porches, a wave of feathered guardians had taken root. These weren't your typical plump, lollipop-eyed mallards, however. Bred specifically for their alertness and territorial behavior, "watch-ducks," as they were affectionately called, had been meticulously cultivated over generations. Their plumage often bore distinctive markings - splashy collars, bright leg bands, or even tiny hats - to showcase their owners' personalities.

The system worked surprisingly well. Ducks, being natural water lovers, were drawn to puddles and runoff, effectively patrolling the perimeter of properties. Their loud, aggressive barks, which sounded more like disgruntled honks, served as an early warning system for homeowners, alerting them to potential drainage issues or leaks. The ducks themselves begrudgingly coexisted with humans, accepting handouts of stale bread and the occasional tug on their feathery capes as payment for their service.

So while the city council debated the finer points of drainage infrastructure and mayor's office was flooded with complaints about misplaced duck droppings, citizens continued to appreciate the unique charm and surprisingly effective work of their feathered allies. Neighborhood gossip would often center around which duck had the sharpest squawk, the fluffiest tail feathers, or the most successful duckling brood. And on a dreary Tuesday afternoon, with rain drumming a relentless rhythm on the rooftops, a young girl named Lily would peer out her window, hoping to catch a glimpse of her favorite watch-duck, Penny, waddling across the lawn, her tiny red hat bobbing with each determined step.

Lily's grandmother, sipping on her tea, smiled fondly. "Yes, she's a good one, Penny," she agreed. "She gets things done."