Fiend Waterfowl!

[hicapoo]

We have acquired another duck. As far as ducks go, it is quite a handsome little wood duck that was given us by Courtney who found and rescued it as a mere duckling (which it still somewhat looks like because wood ducks do not get very large). The bestowing of the bird upon us was a result of its growing older and figuring out how to fly a bit, Courtney's lack of any winged companions for it, and the apparent desire of her dog to take decently sized bites of it. As Abigail (the duck) happens to be a bit more of a wilder breed of duck than those one would usually have running round the house, she seems to enjoy demonstrating her impeccable evasive manoeuvres to those desiring to catch her and lock her out of harm's way each night. Merely three weeks ago I was engaged in the above mentioned 'run and catch' game with said duck after having received instruction from my mother to put away the feathered foe before I took leave of the house one afternoon. Perhaps you are not entirely certain why I take such care in pointing out the fact that the waterfowl is, indeed, a Foe Duck? The status of enemy was made hers after that very afternoon of chasing the wretch around our garden for a while. As I lunged and snatched she bobbed and weaved (and I am not sure, but I think I saw the duck duck at one moment) and so the party went for twenty minutes. Falling back to regain my composure for a bit, I scouted mine enemy from a safe distance and observed her movements. Soon thereafter the rotter waddled over to the duck pond (which is an old bath tub buried to the rim), which appeared to be a week over due for a change of water, and hopped in. Feeling quite confident that I could surprise the duck and capture her as she swam about, I hastily and quietly made my way to the water's edge. Abigail, seeing the impending capture, first attempted to jump out of the water, but met the slippery edge and slid back in. Forward with outstretched arms I strived to take purchase of the small avian body while advancing a few hopping steps forward in a crouched position. It almost seems I heard the cry, 'Dive! Dive!' as my quarry suddenly took a submersive approach to her escape. Thus I was forced to stretch my reach further and give one more hop, and it was an action which I found to be very tactically idiotic. My feet both shot forward into the tub and the rest of me instantly followed as I slid down into precisely the same position any normal person bathing in a tub would have taken. The force of my falling overboard caused a sudden tidal wave out the other end of the bathing vessel which forcefully ejected the still submerged bird up into the air and away into the woods. Soaked to the sternum in duck stew (the sort which was once eaten by ducks and geese, not the sort which contains the same and is generally eaten by people) I stumbled out of the hole in the ground and took off into the forest after the offender at top speed. I was quite disinclined to sneak anymore, therefore I charged. My speed did allow me to cut the waterfowl off before she advanced further into the cover of trees and undergrowth, but her speed (made greater by the flapping of wings) also increased as she ran back, once again, toward the garden. Oh, brightening beam of hope that I had as I saw her ahead of me, finally being careless enough to flee into a corner. She found herself surrounded- the chicken wire and myself had her just where we wanted. With one final lunge I felt my heart leap with joy as one hand grasped the feathery body, and then I also felt it skip several beats and become almost arrhythmic as the other hand wrapped around the electric fence wire. With Daffy Duck like conduct my escapee flapped away quacking as I let go of her tried to shake some feeling back into my less fortunate grabber. Then I accepted defeat, shouted out some parting insult and a statement of how little I cared should the fleeing offender be gathered up for a coyote or bear's evening meal. I am not the most patient animal pursuant to be found.

Still to be carrying on with the matter of ducks, the following bit reminds me of the dashing little rubber one someone gave me at Bethel Camp a few years ago (which happens to still be on one of my bookshelves).
"The discovery of a toy duck in the soap dish, presumably the property of some former juvenile visitor, contributed not a little to this new and happier frame of mind. What with one thing and another, I hadn't played with toy ducks in my bath for years, and I found the novel experience most invigorating. For the benefit of those interested, I may mention that if you shove the thing under the surface with the sponge and then let it go, it shoots out of the water in a manner calculated to divert the most careworn. Ten minutes of this and I was enabled to return to the bedchamber much more the old merry Bertram."
                                                 -Bertie Wooster in Right Ho, Jeeves.

What a yesterday. What a day before yesterday. This may just turn into a 'what a week' sort of week.