Clutch

For over a week Missy (a female Mallard) has been waddling up our garden and hanging out close to the house, we fed her tidbits (mostly seed and bread) and she would sleep under the old leather chair or even in the porch, or wander off, head just visible above the lengthening lawn, to crawl under the fence into next door’s garden – her drake often watching her from the distance of the flat brewery roof at the far end with its frost melt puddles pooling in the centre, his occasional ‘quack’ a nod so she knew he wasn’t – and she became part of our daily routine, pretty much arriving at the same time every day – and I began to wonder if she was intending on nesting here and if so might that not be a little precarious for any duckling when hatched, being so far from any reachable expanse of water – but it seems she wasn’t so stupid (and sadly this is where the tale might be taking a downward turn) for she had found two old and faded Christmas trees in the theatre garden (next door, but opposite side) tucked away in a nook where pretty much nobody ever goes until the tech boys in there decided to throw the Christmas trees over the wall into our garden whilst clearing out and found a clutch of eggs beneath the trees – this was yesterday, we haven’t seen Missy since then . . .