There may be trouble in paradise. It is beginning to look like we have a duck lothario in Poultropolis. His insistent advances are not welcomed, either by the object of his affections, nor by her preferred partner. He is, I’m sad to say, attempting to force himself upon her, but so far he has not succeeded. This may well be because she is in fact a goose, and about seven times as big as him.
The bird-gang have discovered the “pond” that the rain has made at the bottom of the garden. It was only a matter of time I suppose. The hens, of course, are singularly unimpressed. They skim the edges of it to get to the rich bug pickings in the flower beds, looking rather put out. The ducks and geese however, are in water-fowl heaven.
As I write this, I can hear the insistent tap-tap of Genny and Guy, the pilgrim geese, hammering at the back door, as they try to eat the filler around the window panes.