We transported the ducks to the pond the other day.
You’d think they’d like the thought of getting wet, of splish-splashing and blowing bubbles under water.
In fact, we have to corral them, corner them, catch them and carry them to the water’s edge because they don’t go to the pond on their own.
(It’s because they think they’re chickens, in fact, but we try to keep that quiet.)
Once at the water and in the water, they behave like proper ducks, and emerge later all shiny and fluffed up.
Unlike chicken’s feathers, ducks’ feathers are oily and attract the dust and grime of daily life, much like our vehicles.
A visit to the duck-wash takes care of that.
Er, what’s that in the corner?
The ducks studiously ignore the new kid.
“We can’t see you, we can’t see you.”
Somebody else is curious, however.
One seeking, one knowing.
He waits, watching, not going to spoil it for her.
Comprehension!
Going to check this out.
She’d never seen a decoy before and couldn’t imagine why someone would make a toy so life-like and yet so gray and unattractive.
A great couple of moments of exploration!
Meanwhile, a certain trio emerges from its icy bath and prepares to depart the spa.
One up.
Two up.
And three.
All accounted for.
Briskly refreshed, they sally forth, anticipating the delights of cracked corn and crushed wheat.
“The road to the house of a friend is never far.”
— from my friend Sigi’s entranceway
There’s no place like home, there’s no place like home…
The Country Mice 