Harve is sitting by the back door repelling mallards. He stamps his back foot which has no effect whatsoever on the ducks. They are from the gravel lake down the lane or maybe the nearby river and are familiar with rabbits. They are not fazed. The female has decided this is the place to lay her eggs as she did last year and her two henchman have no say in the matter.Two? One has a limp and is guarding her more with hope than conviction that he is the father. They stick closely together and follow her every move. She seems to have forgotten the cottage garden is walled and although she can fly in, her chicks will not be able to fly out. Maybe she assumes we will open the gate just at the right moment. Whatever her instinct has told her she feels this is a familiar and safe haven.

We feed them once a day with corn and in return she has cleared the duck weed from the pond. The drakes quack as they eat while she sings contentedly on the same note.

Once she has layed her eggs and is sitting on them, her devoted husbands will leave her to it and return to the lake having done their duty by her. Hopefully our daily bonding will help us to assist her return the quarter of a mile down the lane to the lake to take her chance with her babies when the shooting season starts again. We can do no more.

She's been writing in my diary again and missed the bit where I chased the squatters up to the pond! Harve the Hero saves the day! Does that duck really believe she will be able to fit 12 ducklings in there with her?