Pachi 🥑 It's no secret that we developers sometimes talk to our rubber ducks as part of the "rubber duck debugging" technique, where explaining code out loud helps uncover bugs.
But what happens when your rubber duck has had enough?Here's the tale of my rubber duck that decided to "quit"...
The Resignation 💌
One morning, I found a tiny, wet resignation letter next to my keyboard. It read:
"Dear Pachi, After years of loyal service, listening to your monologues on missing semicolons, infinite loops, and why you think JavaScript is better than anyrhing else, I've decided to step down.
The work hours are endless, and let's be frank, you talk to me, but you never listen to what I have to say.
I need a break. Perhaps a nice, quiet pond.
Sincerely, Rubber Duck"
I was in shock. How could my duck leave me, especially during a particularly vexing array of bugs?
The Complex Problems 🐞
As the days went on, I felt the absence of my duck deeply. I found myself whispering to my coffee mug about asynchronous functions and callback hell, but it just wasn't the same.
The coffee mug, unlike the duck, was too filled with bitterness.
I recalled the last few problems I had discussed with my duck: a CSS issue where nothing aligned, a JavaScript function that mysteriously returned NaN, and a database query that seemed to think I was asking for an existential debate rather than user data. I
t was a lot, even for the most seasoned of rubber ducks.
The Search for a Replacement 🔍
Determined to fill the void, I embarked on a quest for a new debugging buddy. The journey was long and full of odd looks as I auditioned various inanimate objects: a stapler (too pointy), a plant (too leafy), and even my old graphing calculator from college (it just gave me more problems to solve).
Finally, I found a suitable replacement at a quirky little shop. It was a rubber chicken. Sure, it was unconventional, but it had a sympathetic squeak and an understanding gaze.
The First Meeting 🐔
I introduced the rubber chicken to my codebase, apprehensive but hopeful. To my delight, the chicken seemed to take to its new role like a duck to water, or should I say, like a chicken to corn?
I explained my latest issue with a recursive function, and though it offered no words, its presence was oddly comforting.
I will always miss you 🦆
While my rubber duck may have "quit," the memories of our sessions together will float on forever in my heart.
The rubber chicken has now taken up the mantle, proving that sometimes, a change in perspective (or species) is all you need to crack the code.
P.S. Yes, I just lost my Rubber Duck and made up this story to feel the hole that they left 🥲🥲🥲
