All those puns about "put it on my bill" he'd used at bars came back to bite him when the bank statement came in the mail. He was up all night trying to figure out what to do. "I'm... just going to have to sell my down," he thought. He let the pen fall and propped his head on his wing. Glancing outside at the pond, he suddenly remembered it was the middle of January. His grimace grew deeper. "So...this is what grandad meant about all the long, cold winters during the Duckpression."