This duck moved into our 2nd story window box over the spring.  The girls did a great job of keeping her company, making her feel welcome, offering her tea…what have you. The cats were atrocious hosts!  Just deplorable. They thought I was turning the window box into a buffet. It was embarrassing.

Needless to say, she left.  Who could blame her, with a sunrise wake up call every single morning from 3 tiny tigers?  WHICH, I am sad to report, has now become a habit.  No amount of lecturing will convince them this duck isn’t coming back.

She packed rather hastily and forgot HER CHILDREN.  Oh no. Not good.

I finally put my foot down with our resident egg-sitters, and let them know I had new tenants. A flat of homeless begonias were moving in. I gave Sara gloves and a bowl, and she moved her charges to the 1st floor beds, which logistically makes more sense, when you’re thinking about how on earth that duck was going to get 8 babies down from this perch.

No one is happy.  The girls don’t believe these eggs aren’t a-hatchin’.  Greg cracked an egg and showed them there was only normal egg “stuff” inside, which means we talked about nothing but for a week straight. The cats aren’t happy, because begonias aren’t lunch. Momma isn’t happy because there is a huge HOLE in the front of her window box.  And Daddy is tired of the Dawn Wake Up Brigade.  So, so loud.

I wish this story was more Duck On A Bike, and less Duck At The Door, if you’re an avid Children’s Lit reader, and get my drift. But you know my belief in animals: we don’t choose them; they choose us.

I wish for you a happy, relaxing weekend, sans les canards.