Easter Gift

Easter Saturday brought with it a very special Easter gift, three girls passing by showed us a tiny, fluffy mallard duckling, they had found it in the road about half a mile away and carried it with them, sure they had saved its life. Knowing its future was as uncertain as when they rescued it!

They passed it to us and we took it in, I rang different villagers who al told me the same story – no, no ducks living in the village – not at any house, pub or farm, no-one even keeps chickens now, I was informed.

So we were unable to return the soft, tiny living ball of fluff. It spent a great deal of time running around and peeping (obviously an “I’m lost, where are you, mum?” call).

Within a very short time it had decided our sheltie Beau was its mother, and dutifully followed him everywhere, peeping loudly if it temporarily lost sight of him.

Beau was not at all sure about this, and felt it to be a very dubious honour, at best, that had been conferred on him. He watched it warily and had no rest, as each time he sat or lay down so the brown and yellow bundle crept as close to him as possible. Beau would quickly get up and hurry to another spot, only for the same to happen. He must have been exhausted by bedtime, the only respite came when he jumped into an armchair and Sophie, as my grandson Rick named the duckling, could not follow.

Yes, we named her and hoped in time she would come when called, I think though the sound of the food being put out will be enough to bring her, as it certainly brings her wild mallard cousins who have adopted us.

She was called Sophie after my sister’s young daughter who also follows Beau everywhere.

We had a little duckling,
Its coat was brown and yellow,
And everywhere that Beau went
The duck was sure to follow.
(with apologies to whomever)

Sophie, or perhaps Jack, as we’ll find out when her adult coat grows, didn’t eat much the first day, and when we put her in the pond she ran straight to the edge and scrambled out. The other ducks disliked her instantly and shooed her away when I introduced her to them, so we’ll wait and see what happens naturally.

By bedtime her note was quiet and musical, and she only did her high-pitched distressed peeping if Beau was not to be seen. We shut her in the conservatory over night and hoped. I felt she must be exhausted and if her new circumstances didn’t kill, her she’d probably sleep well and have a good chance of living.

She didn’t like being shut alone in the conservatory, but within seconds of all the lights being turned out she had settled. Would she be alive in the morning or not, only time would tell, and so to bed perchance to dream!

New Mallard Mother

Mike has cut the grass and I love the contrast between the newly cut, neat lawns, and the borders of wild untrammeled beds, filled to overflowing with masses of bright spring flowers.

The mallards seem to have adopted us and have settled down well, he is standing one-legged this side of the pond with his bright yellow bill resting on his fat chest. The mother mallard rests folded up and egg-shaped, camouflaged amongst the rocks at the far edge of the pond, indeed if you didn’t know her habits you would be hard pressed to find her.

I fear they have eaten the tadpoles, their gain is my loss, and I shall try again next year, keeping some aside to be carefully nurtured indoors.

I had hoped for the delights of seven fluffy, golden ducklings, crocodiling around the garden, plopping into and scrambling out of the pond, but this might not happen as I have a feeling this mallard mother is a first year duck herself, her eggs are very small and her egg-laying quite sporadic.

Indeed her eggs seem an inconsequential part of her life, she drops them in passing, does not brood them, in fact she walks on with never a backwards glance – still it is early in the season and who knows, many things change with time, not having been, as they seemed to us, while we were caught up in the throes of present happenings.