Poor Mrs M.

Mrs Mallard poked around the front garden, inspecting carefully, then rejected it. 

She moved on to examine the borders around the side of the house, tweaking a few stray bits of old lavender stalk out of the way, then happily settled down.

Meanwhile, Mr Mallard was pacing up and down between the big front gates,  he wasn't happy,  but he had a long-suffering expression on his face.    It made me think about the way men look when they have been coerced into a shopping trip and are waiting outside the changing rooms, while their wife tries on lots of new outfits.   

He knew the garden wasn't the right fit, but he daren't say anything.

Mrs Mallard, desperate to settle down,  had decided that they were going to squat in the parking area.     

image borrowed from nyc.gov

Which would have been fine, but it was far too close to passing farm vehicles and bang smack in the cats' hunting ground;  ducklings wouldn't stand a chance.        If they  made a nest they would have been protected by law, so something needed to be done to encourage them to move on before they took that step.

I opened the main gate... shock, horror - human!  They flew away, towards the ponds and (hopefully) greater safety.


Bright and early this morning they were back, this time she was checking out the vegetable garden.    Toby spotted them and they quickly realised that it wasn't such a good idea.   They flew off over the barley field, in the opposite direction from the ponds, but at least they would be well away from the road.

Perhaps Mrs Mallard is young and inexperienced.    Desperate, certainly, for she laid this egg in a field margin.    I found it while I was walking Toby.     It wasn't warm, she hadn't been sitting on it.   The pair were pacing the field, I suppose she is still looking for that 'forever home'.

I cut our walk short, I didn't want to spook them yet again. 

They just don't seem to have a clue.

Even Toby seemed to feel sorry for them.