A tale of donkeys and ducks.

"Janet had gone away to get the bath ready, when my aunt, to my great alarm, became in one moment rigid with indignation, and had hardly voice to cry out, 'Janet! Donkeys!'"

David Copperfield. Charles Dickens 1850.

I am developing an intolerance of mallard ducks worthy of Betsey Trotwood's attitude towards any unfortunate donkey that happened upon her green.

At this time of the year the mallards fly in from the estuary and walk the streets looking for suitable gardens in which to nest. Most of the females are now sitting on eggs but the drakes gather on the house roofs hoping to spot whatever courting opportunities might still arise. Today they were peering hopelessly into a thick sea fog.

Every day a group of them will descend on our small garden to have a good wash in our even smaller garden pond. They would be welcome if they did no damage but 6 drakes soon eat or destroy everything in the pond. So, at the first sound of quacking I am out there shooing and waving my arms like the demented Betsey. To make matters worse, the male starlings, those great mimics of the bird world, have now added mallard quacks to their song repertoire, thus creating false alarms on a regular basis!