Jamais plus.

I can't remember the last time I cried but I can't stop at the moment. All the babies are dead. They didn't make it to the lake. Twelve little beaks and twenty four little flat, webbed feet. They must have fallen behind her one by one and she wouldn't have known. All the pleasure they had in life was a dip in a drop of water in an old Swiss roll tin in the garden and the sun on their faces for a couple of hours.

She's back here again with the two drakes and they have forgotten. I wish I could.

If the drakes are still fertile she could produce another brood. I hope she doesn't.

I wish I had forced them into a carrier and taken them myself.

I wish...................

Would you believe it, those ducks are back. Just as I was going out of the back door for a breath of fresh air she arrived on the step begging for food. Huh! When can a rabbit have his garden to himself!