Foxglove - July 16, 2008

"WANT to see how the ducks are coming on?" asked the gamekeeper as we finished our coffee.

It was quite a way to the pond from his cottage so we drove very slowly and let the dogs follow 'to wheel', which meant that if anything that should be flushed or chased made its presence known we would have the equipment to do so.

We parked at the top of the hill and disembarked so that we could watch the pond without its inhabitants seeing us.

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Ten days previously, in driving rain, we had arrived at first light with the crates of young ducks.

Caught up at the rearing field the previous night, they had been driven across to their new home early so they would have the maximum hours of daylight in which to settle.

Even so, too much rain was not going to be good for them. Lovely weather for ducks it might be, but these, while old enough at eight weeks to go it alone, were still very young. It was a relief when the rain slackened off enough for us to let them out.

A good duck pond has an island in the middle, plenty of cover around the edges, and a variable depth, with banks sloping gently into deeper water.

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Before releasing the ducks, we had sent the labradors over to the island to check for predators. The pair of them, lean and fit, cut through the water like speedboats, bow-waves of foam before them.

On reaching the island, sleek as seals, they started to push through the cover there, while we on the bank heard the crashing and splashing.

While this was under way, my own dogs had been working around the perimeter to seek out anything that would threaten the ducks, from rat to fox. We found nothing, which showed how diligent the 'keeper had been in the time preceding the delivery.

Upon release from their plastic crates, the ducks set off towards the water as if they had lived on that pond all their lives and had just returned from a holiday that had not lived up to expectations.

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They waddled in, they swam and ducked and dived and dabbled, they sped underwater and came up again, they up-ended and bounced back, all the time keeping up a babble of bird-talk, a running commentary on the pond.

It would have drowned out any human conversation, had we wanted to make any, but we were full of watching them all. We wanted to see that they were healthy and mobile; the 'happy' was self-evident.

Quite suddenly, the noise ceased apart from a mutter here and there: they had settled.

The crates and trailer were taken back to the game farm for a thorough cleaning and disinfection, while the 'keeper's work was set for feeding his young charges and keeping them safe.

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At first on the pellets that they had been given at the game farm, they would gradually change over to a mix of pellets and barley, and thence to barley only. They would, of course, have plenty and varied wild food with which to supplement their rations.

Now we saw them again, already growing on and perfectly at home on their pond. Having spied on them from the high ground we walked on down to the pond itself to send the dogs round on predator patrol while we watched, for two pairs of country eyes see plenty more than one.

This first appeared in the West Sussex Gazette,July 16 2008. To read it first, buy the WSG every Wednesday.

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