Duck Rescue

The call came at midday.

One of the residents on the estate had discovered a mother duck with seven ducklings on her pond. Unfortunately the dog had already eaten two ducklings and they were concerned for the safety of the rest. Could we possibly relocate them down here, to the moat?

Hmmmm. Not as simple as it sounds. Even if I caught the duck, how was I to get it the mile and a half down to the house?

I texted McColleague. "Do you want to be involved in a duck rescue this afternoon?"

She did. Which was good, as she is the only person I know who keeps ducks, so has a handy duck carrier to transport them in. "Should I bring my husband?" she asked.

"Yes," I replied. "I have a feeling the ducks will go everywhere when we try to catch them, so the more help the better. Mr Sparrow and I will meet you there."

Pausing only to fill a carrier bag with corn, we headed off to the top of the estate. McColleague and her husband were waiting for us. He was holding the large plastic box, in which we hoped to place our captured ducks, and McColleague was holding a small yellow fishing net, of the kind found in seaside souvenir shops. We rang the bell of the house in question. I am sure we made an impressive sight. The plastic bag of grain, which I had now discovered had a hole in in the bottom, the fishing net and the box. A truly professional outfit, guaranteed to inspire confidence at a glance.

"Hello," I said, brightly, as the door opened. "Did you call Duck Rescue?"

They had indeed. Ushering us through into their back garden we immediately spotted our prey. "Ok," said McColleague's husband, "we're only really going to get one shot at this."

Carefully we fanned out around the tiny pond, to form a pincer movement. Mother duck and her babies stayed just beyond the reach of the tiny fishing net, in the middle of the water. I threw corn. They ignored it and refused to come closer.

"Put your arms out," said McColleague's husband, demonstrating by assuming a cruciform pose. We did. The ducks moved a little further towards one side of the pond. There was a lunge, much quacking, some running around over the rockery and flower beds, and mother duck flew off into the garden next door.

"Bollocks."

McColleague and I stood guard over the ducklings, to ensure we didn't lose those too, while our respective husbands climbed over the wall to try to shoo mother duck back into our garden again. There was much quacking, the sound of foliage rustling, thudding feet, a cry of "Aargh, I almost had her!" and then mother duck flew overhead and out into the surrounding parkland.

The couple who had originally called us in as a duck rescue team came out to see how we were doing. We explained the situation as our husbands climbed back over the wall, duckless, and it was agreed mother duck would probably return if we stopped chasing her about and had a nice cup of tea instead.

We drank our tea and listened to the sound of anxious quacking from the other side of the wall. The ducklings were still with us, on the tiny pond, cheeping and cheeping for their mother. We waited. Mother duck did not return.

"OK, plan B," I said. "If we stress the little ones too much they'll die anyway. Mother duck isn't going to come back while we're here. The ducklings can't get to her as they can't get over the brick wall. Let's catch the ducklings, put them back with mum, over the wall, and hopefully she'll decide here is a bad place and take them away to somewhere safe."

At last the small yellow fishing net came into its own, as one by one the tiny ducklings were scooped up and carried over the wall. Mother and babies were reunited and left to take their chances in the wider world. It was the best result we could hope for, and at least they were away from ravening pet dogs. Foxes and other predators would still be a concern even if we had got them back to the moat.

We gathered up our duck busting kit: the dripping net, the bag leaking corn, the empty box. "Right, well, we'll be off now. Just call us, you know, if you need any other ducks rescuing."

We returned to our cars, glowing with the sense of a job well done and the exertion involved in chasing a small duck around a rockery.

Time Off

I am taking a couple of days in lieu this week, seeing as though I worked a six day week, including two bank holidays, over Easter.

So far on my day off I have:

• Organised volunteer cover for tomorrow.
• Bought cake and biscuits for the volunteers.
• Brought through their cups, milk, kettle etc.
• Completed the end of week returns and faxed them to regional office.
• Banked the takings.
• Bought a new ink cartridge for the printer.
• Got change for the tea room.
• Sorted out the floats for tomorrow.
• Washed up all the volunteers cups and plates.

But by far the most bizarre interruption of my day off was from McColleague. I was sat in my living room, sketching, when I heard her call from outside the door.

"Doris! Do you know where (something something) is?"

"What?" I put down my sketch book and pencil and opened the door. "Do I know where the what is?"

I stopped short. McColleague was stood there with our young volunteer. Both had tiny ducklings clutched in each hand. "Peep!" said the ducklings.

"Do you know where the mother duck is?" repeated McColleague.

"Um...no...she's not in here with me, anyway." I was confused. Why were my colleagues outside my living room, holding tiny fuzzy ducklings at me?

"We found these all by themselves near the chapel, and there was no mother duck anywhere near. I was afraid they were going to get run over by the builder's van. We've walked right round the moat but not found the mother duck."

"Could be on mini-moat," I ventured, "or the slurry pit."

Eventually we did track down mother duck, with the rest of her brood, on mini-moat. The tiny, peeping ducklings were set down carefully by the water's edge, and mother duck immediately took off to the other side of the moat. She is a bad mother duck. Shirking her responsibilities like that. After we backed off and some time had passed she finally accepted them back into her brood. A happy ending! I returned to the house and attempted to resume my sketching.

Tomorrow I am going to go out.

Ducklings Do Not So Much Fly, as Plummet

Yesterday evening the duck eggs in the hollow oak tree finally hatched! Mother duck had left the nest and was circling the base of the tree, quacking incessantly, while her fluffy ducklings teetered on the edge of the hole and refused to jump. Round and round went mother duck, her quacks become increasingly plaintive.

I spotted increased movement in the hole in the tree and then one bold duckling went for it. He kind of plummeted head first to the ground and landed on his back, bounced a goodly way in the air, and then took off after his still-circling mum, apparently none the worse for wear. The other ducklings obviously saw his bad landing and thought "no way". They refused to budge.

As the evening drew on, my other half could stand it no longer. "I'm going to hoy them out of there," he announced.

"But, that's not part of nature's plan," I protested.

"Yeah, well, I don't see that falling on their heads is part of nature's plan. I'm going to get them out."

So, up he climbed. "Oh wow," he said, peering inside the hole.

"Take a picture," I cried. Precariously, hanging on with one hand and trying hard not to fall out of the tree and into the moat, he did:

One by one, he handed down a duckling to my outstretched hands, and I then put them on the grass, where they were happily reunited with their mother. We counted out thirteen ducklings in total, and each and every one of them crapped in my hands. Can't say I blame them.

Our intervention doesn't seem to have done them any harm. They drew crowds all afternoon at the Easter event. There may have been giant games, birds of prey, exotic reptiles, insects, mammals, tractor and trailer rides, quizzes and chocolate eggs yet the ducklings were proving to be strong competition.

Unprecedented numbers of people turned up today. Our trailer rides were so popular they were totally over-subscribed and we had to shoehorn in an extra couple of tours. There isn't an ice cream left in the shop. My feet hurt. But, this is what makes it all worthwhile - a lovely couple of comments cards left for me this evening:

"By far the best place I have visited - lovely surroundings and good walks. The children enjoyed the games and quiz - a perfect day"

and

"I think it was the best I've ever been to - Emily, age 7".

And best of all, I get to do it all again tomorrow! Pass the wine...