This morning I was up a bit early. I considered going back to sleep but opted for waking, finishing my book (Last Chance to Eat, by Gina Mallet – book review to follow), maybe puttering around writing, gardening, working on the shop – something. I went and made my toast, tea and sliced apples and while I did so, I noticed something through the kitchen window (over the sink) that looks out into the garden. Ducklings. Not new ones, the same damn ones that keep finding their way into my damn garden. So, I slip on the garden shoes and head out to rescue them.
The first one is in the main garden – trampling what’s left of the melons (oy vey!). She’s frantic (and adorable – grey fuzzy with yellow). Her mums – there are three now – are equally frantic and squawking and carrying on on the other side of the three foot high chicken wire fence (you’ll notice it’s not called duck wire… hmmm). Somehow, as I’m trying to get the duckling free, two of the mums manage to half climb, half fly up to come to baby’s aid. One of them lands on my head – I’m not kidding- and starts whacking me with her beak. OMG! Those beaks are fierce and they can hit hard with them. I now have a goose egg (duck egg, technically) on the back of my head. I did free baby eventually but holy. I managed to free the other two trapped in the pea patch with much less drama.