Of course, the ducks did eventually discover the joys of deep water bathing. One of them fell in by accident, decided it was kind of cool, and there was no getting them out after that. They'd sleep in the bath if I let them, because they are Riders at the Gates of Dawn....etc, but sadly, they lack the ninja skills to fight off nasty night predators, so it's into the shed at dusk and no arguing, or I get the broom out.
When I empty and clean the bath, (which I do, ALL THE TIME, and it's bloody hard work), they'll be back in before I've even filled it, merrily splashing along the bottom and messing it all up again until the water's high enough to exit.
And it makes me wonder why I bother, sometimes.
Meanwhile, the chooks, whom I love to distraction but suspect have been brought into being for the express purpose of driving me insane, know that the one place that I do not want them is on my CUTTING TABLE, where I am trying to SEW, dammit.
The moment nobody is there to whoosh them off (my long ruler is doing a roaring trade in chook eviction), up they boink, berking victorious war cries and dancing their poo dance. I know for a fact that they're hatching plans for World Domination, starting with the kitchen. They hold secret meetings while pretending to sleep in the shed and I can hear them plotting when I go to lock them in. Along the lines of...blah blah blah, ladder.....blah blah blah bomb.....blah blah blah hostages.
Didn't know I could speak chicken, did you?
Today's manoeuvre involved pitching themselves, kamikaze style, at the kitchen window. This is Wanda's speciality, because she fears neither man nor beast (polar bears included), with Red and Cabiria along for moral support (and possible rape and pillage). She would've succeeded, too, had I not been onto her game and already closed the window. I spotted her later, scratching blueprints for a glass-cutter in the dust with her fingernail...
So, the coup failed, but I await their next move with apprehension.
If you don't hear from me for awhile, or if I suddenly start blogging neo-fascist slogans in chickenspeak, take it as read that the lunatics did, finally, take over the asylum.
Then call in the CAT team.
Because, some days?
I can feel even the illusion of control just.... slipping away.