Sunday, 22 June 2014

The Story of Duck

Duck came into our lives on Sunday 1st June. There was a scuffle in the corner of the kitchen where we keep our trays and instead of the expected mouse, a small brown and yellow ball of fluff waddled out on oversized webbed feet, peep-peeping like a thing possessed. It is a noise that has become the fabric of my daily life. As has taking Duck for walks up the stream, digging for worms along the way, and watching her paddle around, ducking and diving (if you'll excuse the pun), all activities accompanied by the constant peep-peep escalating rapidly to a panicky screech whenever she thinks she's lost or been abandoned.

She was about two weeks old when she was first scuffling around the kitchen, dangerously close to the Aga (and becoming crispy duck) and the cat who seems strangely indifferent to her presence given she is the most likely reason Duck was in the kitchen in the first place. We think she came from an 11 duckling brood down the lane but by the time we found this out we were advised by a duck-rearing friend (and grand-daughter of the lady who has the brood in her herbaceous border) that it would not be a good idea to return ours to the family as the mother duck would likely be aggressive to it even after just a day or two's absence. So L got her wish and Duck became part of the family. 

In the intervening three weeks Duck has at least tripled in size and has progressed from her world existing in a large plastic storage box to the dog's travel cage and beyond. She gorges on duck crumb and earthworms and lots of other bits and pieces of insect and vegetation that she finds on her forages around the garden. She is just starting to develop proper feathers on her wings (they, appeared practically overnight) and she has a rather scrappier looking set of tail feathers of which she is remarkably proud. We are all pathetically in love with her despite her being the embodiment of the phrase 'mucky duck'. I have had to find time in my life for regular cleaning and discenfecting of cage (about 5 times a day), together with bathing, feeding and play routines. It has been like having a baby and toddler in quick succession and it will be a few weeks yet before she will be independent. She has already had a 'holiday' down with our duck-raising friend's ducklings and will be down there again when we are away in a week's time. It seemed to go off well enough and she appeared to be unfazed and happy to be back with us again too. I am trying to raise Duck to be adaptable. She seems happy in anyone's company - including the cat and dog's - and settles down quietly by herself for the night too. When the lights go out she knows it's time for bed.

I have recently invested in a duck house (greatly daring as the last time I purchased a home for a rescued wild feathered friend it promptly died - remember the story of Bird?). It is actually billed by Pets At Home, from whence its provenance, as a Guinea Pig Mansion but it seemed to have the right credentials for ducks too. It was an ex-display, now discontinued model going cheap but we had to employ a friend with a van to get the bloody thing home having failed to get it into a car of our own.

My plan is for Duck to move into it on a permanent basis outside when she is ready and to allow her to potter around the garden at her leisure. If she decides to fly the nest then so be it. She may return she may not. Ultimately she will have to take her chances in life. In the meantime it has been a pleasure giving her a loving start - but how the tale will end has not yet been written. Indeed, it may turn out she's not a She after all, but on the basis of all her endless chat this has been my best guess so far as males are apparently notably quieter (in ducks as in humans so it would seem!). Time will tell. 

3 weeks old

5 weeks old and making herself at home (still not scared by proximity to oven!)

Sitting by me in the kitchen as I write, some water always nearby to dip her bill into.

Friday, 6 June 2014

Walking with my Dog

Dog has been depressed by Duck and Decorators this week. Frisbees in the garden were starting to pall. Time to take her out for a romp about the High Peak. Chose the Goyt Valley, my favourite local spot. Rushing streams, grouse moors, pine forests and reservoirs. Nothing better to lift the spirits - even when still unseasonably wet and cold. 


This bridge was moved to its current location in 1965 when they flooded the valley lower down.




As I walked alongside all this gushing water I mused on why it is that I love it so much. Still water can be calm and beautiful but I realise it is running water that I always seek out. The noise, the energy, the movement - it stimulates the senses at so many levels and was the life-affirming force that was required on this otherwise dank, lonely day. 




Friday, 16 May 2014

Swallows

I feel incredibly sad. I have just come downstairs to find the dog staring at the cat staring at a dead swallow on the kitchen floor. I picked the beautiful creature up and it was still warm. Just yesterday I was so happy to come home in the evening and see them sweeping around the courtyard, flying in and out if the garage with incredible agility and precision, heralding summer and all good things to come. It is heartbreaking. So many thousands of miles flown to end up on my kitchen floor.

I have held it and blessed its incredible little body and taken it out into the wood to bury it under some dry leaves with the sound of birdsong all around. It is the best I can do for its little soul.

I hope tonight I will come home to find the other swallows still here, though I fear they may move on if one of the mates has gone and when I look at them I will feel sad anyway knowing they are missing one of their fellows.

I am not blaming the cat. She's a little old these days to be catching birds. Maybe she did, maybe she didn't. She obviously brought it inside to show me but perhaps it hit a window or something and she simply found it on the ground. I will never know the answer, like so many things in life.

Friday, 2 May 2014

Easter Holidays

The holidays began at my parents' house in West Sussex, in lovely soft spring sunshine with small reminders of Easter dotted around.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 Their woodland garden was looking so fresh and colourful.
 
 
 
 
 
From the lush, manicured greens of Sussex we were on soon on a plane and re-united with the wilder greens of our own garden in France, left to fend for itself for too much of the time. Yet breakfast outside is always a joy next to the straggling roses, the tumbling vine and the sounds of the spring bubbling away in the background...
 
 
From there to the wild expanses of the Atlantic coast, battered and bruised after a long winter of endless big storms. The worst damage to the beaches for decades and an appalling dumping of human detritus. What are we doing to our planet?
 
 
Half the sand on the beach has been removed by relentless Atlantic breakers...
 
 
On a day trip to St Jean de Luz, nestled on the Bay of Biscay at the foot of the Pyrenees, we found that the coastline had remained undamaged by the winter storms...
 
 
 
So after a lovely fishy beachside lunch...
 
 
...we enjoyed some time on the beach....
 
 
 
 
...and even had a dip....
 
 
 
...before taking a walk around the beautiful town and its port:
 
 


 








 


 

 
  


 


After ice-creams and an aperitivo we headed back up the coast a few kilometres to Biarritz for supper and sunset:



The following day saw friends arriving and more meals outside....





...and frivolities on the beach:

 




And then the friends were gone and we had a final day to ourselves...


 

....before the clouds arrived with perfect timing and sent us on our way back home to an Easter Sunday supper and a table laden with goodies:

 
 
 

 
 

 
 
 
 

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