Romeo and Juliet Mallard were driving me nuts!
Here’s what’s happened.
In late April the two lovebirds- who never seem to nest - took up residence in my 48” round cement ground pond, which, at the time, held rain water, dirt, and rotting leaves from last autumn. They played and slept in there, adding poop to the bacteria-rich soup.
In late May, I realized I had a problem. That scallop-edged cement circle had always been a pond, with a brass boy perched on the rim, playing his water flute. I loved it, and now I’d lost it to ducks!
Then, I had a really good idea.
I’d make it a faux water feature. A blue oat grass would be the central ‘fountain,’ and ageratum would be the vivid blue ‘water’ beneath. Perfect. I wouldn’t even have to wash out the duck poop/rotting, soggy leaves/earth, but just combine it with the Wholly Cow manure I’d purchased. My creation looks very nice, indeed.
Juliet disagreed. She paced around her vanished pool/spa, quacking dismay and frustration, wishing it back. She even hopped onto the rim to make absolutely sure there was no water in there. Finally, disgusted, the two of them waddled off to the big central, but still dry, fountain, and settled down to wait.
Uh-oh. I knew my future.
In early June, when I filled that big pool and turned on the fountain above it, they quacked happily and climbed in. Horrified, I rushed them, flapping and howling; they stopped paddling and watched me make an idiot of myself. I tried waving a small tarp. They wouldn’t budge. My husband Joe popped out of the house to drop six lime-green tennis balls into my lap. “Try these.” I lobbed balls at them, and finally made feeble contact with Juliet’s feathered back; both flew off. But just for an hour or two.
Here’s the thing: they knew what we wanted. Juliet would stand on the pool rim, drink, raise one leg as though to go in, freeze, then look right at us. Joe and I, perched on the bench, would say, “No…no…” She’d slowly lower her leg, watching our reaction. She did this over and over. Once she even rippled the water with one webbed foot, teasing. We said, “No…no…” over and over. Who was conditioning whom? It was uncanny. That duck was baiting us. Finally tired of the game, they head-bobbed agreement- and jumped in. We were speechless.
All day, as visitors wandered through the garden, I’d charge those mallards hissing and yelling and lobbing balls. (A few people were confused by my behavior- but they didn’t have to clean that fountain.) By closing time I was exhausted, having run the equivalent of a mile. Maintaining a constant vigil was clearly not gonna work. Furthermore, I had to scrub away loads of ducky do-do they’d deposit on my brick sidewalk night after night. Ugh!
There had to be a solution.
I biked to Ace Hardware, bought a mega-tarp, and covered the entire fountain at day’s end, securing it to the ground with long white nails. The task took forever. In wind it would be impossible. When I finally finished- (with R&J watching with interest a decent distance away)- they circled the pool slowly, studying the situation. One edge, where the tarp ends didn’t quite meet, was as wide as a small pizza box. There was room for precisely ONE duck. Quacking happily, Juliet plopped into that tiny space.
I threw a Donald Duck temper tantrum, blocked the hole with a broom and large silver dustpan, and stomped off to bed in a fowl mood.
The next morning I motored to Garden Goods, which almost always has what I need- for the garden. But could they help with ducks?
Gordy listened to my outraged squawks. “I have just the thing, Dee. Netting. It’s strong stuff.” He whipped out a package. I read. By golly, it just might be my salvation.
-Duckbills couldn’t shred it.
-Sun and treated pool water wouldn’t hurt it.
-The large-sized jet-black netting collected leaves, and was nearly invisible.
It. Was. Perfect.
I installed it. Waited. Very soon the whir of duck wings alerted me. Showtime!
R&J landed, quacked with glee, wagged their tails in anticipation, and made straight for the water. Romeo stopped in mid-waddle though, and refused to step onto the extra netting secured to the grass. It just felt wrong. He backed off and checked his paddlers.
But not Juliet. Hopping over the ground netting, she landed on the pool’s rim and tried to drink. Her bill bounced off the exquisitely thin black barrier. WHAT?? She quacked in disbelief. Ducks know water! They drink it, belong in it. This situation was totally outside her experience.
Though unnerved, she wouldn’t give up. After circling on the pond’s rim for ten minutes trying to sip- with the same result, she abandoned caution and jumped in.
Except.
There was no In.
Only On.
The poor duck bounced, then remained suspended above the water. She quacked confusion and tried to paddle. Nope. There she sat, crouched a scant inch above her favorite beverage.
I gasped with silent laughter. Before me sat a truly mystified duck.
Had the rules changed, she wondered?
Romeo coaxed her out and led her up the garden path toward the back porch, but Juliet continued to glance back. Why wouldn’t the water let her in?
To help soothe Juliet’s agitation they played house in the shrubbery for a while, and then wandered around the Ram’s Head Garden pretending to graze. Half an hour later, though, she chucked her pretended indifference and rushed back to the pool, confident that spot would finally make sense. On the edge, she quacked once and dived in.
Bounced.
Sat, suspended.
Nothing had changed.
She repeatedly snapped at the netting.
It was impervious.
She squatted there, baffled, knowing what was underneath her feathers, but…not.
Finally, a defeated Juliet walked unsteadily on water to its edge, hopped onto the grass and flounced to the North Gate in silence. Romeo followed, muttering.
I laughed so hard I cried.
We haven’t seen them since.
P.S. Indecently smug for the last six days with this feather in my cap, I wanted to celebrate. So last evening Joe and I stumped down Union Street straight to the Merry-Go-Round. He bought me a ticket. I chose a prancing white steed on the ride’s outer limits and hopped on. (Incredibly, no one else rode, that one time!) Round n’ round I whirled, grinning.
Gotcha, you quacks!