Late brood
Nine mallard ducklings, far too late in the season, following a very tired female along the reed edge. Two of them still had the pale down on the crown. I counted twice because I did not believe the first count.
There is a shallow pond ten minutes from my flat, behind the allotments. I walk there most mornings before work and write down what is on the water. This is that notebook, typed up.
Nine mallard ducklings, far too late in the season, following a very tired female along the reed edge. Two of them still had the pale down on the crown. I counted twice because I did not believe the first count.
Grey heron on the concrete outflow again, in the same posture as in June, facing the sluice. It let me get within fifteen metres before it decided that was enough and went off low over the allotments.
Two coots settled a border dispute in the usual way, upright in the water, feet first, a great deal of splashing and no obvious winner. The moorhens watched from the far bank and did not get involved.
Three dry weeks and the pond has dropped enough to expose the shopping trolley near the north corner. A pied wagtail was working the new mud, which is the only good thing to come of it.