I was cleaning out the empty nest recently when I came across some old comic books and that’s when it hit me; if Scrooge McDuck had really dived into his money bin, he would have been killed.

There’s a reason it’s called cold, hard cash and not bouncy, splashy, soft cash. Sure ducks are pliable and squishy, what with all their feathers and down, but not pliable and squishy enough to survive a headlong dive into a bin of coins.

Speaking of ducks, did you know that there are six official collective nouns to describe a bunch of ducks? It’s true. The first, and most commonly used, is a flock of ducks, but just as accurate is a brace of ducks, a flush of ducks, a paddling of ducks, a raft of ducks and a team of ducks. I guess as in the Mighty Ducks of Anaheim.

My favourite bird is the raven; those inquisitive, playful, intriguing vultures of the north. Incidentally, there are only two ways of accurately describing a flock of ravens, and flock isn’t one of them. Instead they should be called a storytelling or an unkindness of ravens.

Other personal favourites are a crash of rhinoceros, a scurry of squirrels, a shiver of sharks and a prickle of hedgehogs.

Who knew? Well, me obviously, but that’s only because I came across some homework under one of my son’s beds. I never knew it before, which brings me to my next question; how did I ever manage to graduate?

In all fairness to my case of brain fade, a lot of the schools are going to the year-round school system with a series of two week breaks every couple months instead of having the long summer holiday. Teacher’s say having students away from school for two months results in them forgetting so much of what they learned the year before, that most of September is used up just doing review work instead of learning anything new.

That makes me feel slightly better. After all, if a young, fresh mind can forget all their schooling in only eight weeks, then I guess I shouldn’t feel so bad for losing my schooling after being away for, well, never you mind how long I’ve been out of school. Suffice it to say; judging by the strange markings I have been straining the brain to decipher in my son’s old math book it’s been far too long.

I always did hate math. I prefer to learn, or relearn, collective nouns; even the ones that don’t make any sense, such as a parliament of owls. How silly is that? Aren’t owls supposed to be wise? A kettle of hawks. Hee, hee. That just makes me laugh. A murder of crows. Hey! Did you know that crows can also be called a storytelling of crows the same as the raven?

Speaking of memory, did you know that a herd of elephants is more accurately called a memory of elephants? How about an implausibility of gnus or a passel of possums? All true collective nouns. If you don’t believe me, phone your local high school and ask for the English teacher.

The sad thing is that in a few weeks — or more likely hours — from now I won’t remember any of this. I will be back to saying, “Look at all those . . . all those . . . Right over there! To the east, no I mean the west. Behind you! Those things with tails! There sure are a whole lot of them thingymahjiggy’s all in one place, hey?”

Ah, but for one brief and shining moment I was the person who knew that when a gaggle of geese rose to the skies, formed a V and headed for their breeding grounds in the north, they were called a wedge.

Shannon McKinnon is a syndicated humour columnist from the Peace River country. You can visit her online at www.shannonmckinnon.com