Our Duck Family

It is a bright but cold February morning, and our hearts are lifted to see the ducks back. They are rare winter visitors unless the river and marina freeze, but frequent and welcome the rest of the year. Yes, they do leave greasy, glistening piles of excrement where they traipse and the pond does become a muddy, foul smelling quagmire, but we really enjoy their company.

They are usually waiting for us when we rise, sitting on the garage roof. They fly down eagerly waiting for their breakfast: water softened bread, birdseed, peanuts, dried fruit, suet and a few kind words – they could probably do without the latter, but it keeps them attuned to the sound of my voice when we are out in the garden, and they have on occasion come and sought us out.

If I do not notice them fly down in the mornings, they do repeated short flights up to the kitchen window to catch my attention, and occasionally I will turn to see one perched, sitting or standing, on the kitchen window sill – no mean feat when you consider the width of their bodies and the narrowness of the sill.

Having feasted, they make their way down to the pond, where beaks down, tails up, they spend several minutes. This pair’s relationship is consummated in a few brief seconds, where I hold my breath as I wait for the female to resurface. We have actually seen ducks drowned during mating, but thankfully never here. Every year the female of this pair is chased and set upon by marauding males desperate to pass their genes down to the next generation. One year, so many flew in at once that despite the best efforts of her mate, the female was held under water for several minutes and despaired of her surviving the ordeal. I went outside to defend her and chased off the pack of males. Last year our resident female returned with her usual mate, but all spring and summer another male was loitering and mating at every opportunity much to the annoyance of her long term mate.

This year when the female arrived she was accompanied by not just her usual mate, but also last year’s loitering male, who is younger and more handsome, with no battle scars from years of defending his mate. Surprisingly, there is no animosity. Her old beau seems resigned to the situation and is just happy to be near her. He takes no notice while they mate and just drifts idly while the act takes place, after which she splashes, bathes and preens herself then the three of them climb out and sit together on the side.

This behaviour will continue for a few weeks, then when we see the female she will always be alone. Previously, her mate would spend many hours in the garden very day calling to her, hurrying back and forth, looking in the pond, checking under bushes and very rarely eating. She seems to have been the main focus of his life and without her he appears anxious and lost. How she avoids him so neatly I haven’t quite worked out, but he never finds her.

Eventually, we will look out and there she will be nonchalantly leading a line of small fluffy brown and yellow ducklings across the lawn, or maybe standing patiently under the kitchen window, ducklings grouped around her, waiting for food, and just occasionally the first sighting of her and her new family will be of all of them swimming in the pond. Yes, for us, this moment is the climax.

Floodwaters

I live on the outskirts of a flood plain, where my bungalow has stood for nearly 100 years. It has been my home since 3rd December, 1987. We have never worried about our house flooding, but have watched the water rise in the surrounding fields with quiet excitement, knowing that when the water was at its highest it would feel as if I lived near the sea.

It is fascinating to see how quickly the area is colonized by gulls, ducks and swans. Herons we are used to, they frequent the fields and river banks near our garden. The kingfisher flies through our garden no more or less than before, and since both he and the heron are fishers in our pond we see them more frequently than most.

For many of our years living here, an old man walked up and down the lane coinciding with the opening hours of a nearby pub. If we happened to be outside gardening we would pass the time of day with each other. He was retired and this was his pleasure and time of socializing each evening he told us his father before him had walked the lane, as he did, until the time of his death, and though they had seen the lane flood many times, it had never reached our bungalow. It was good to hear that.