Ducks, redux

It appears that we've been adopted by Mr. and Mrs. Mallard.

We have a series of steps that zigzag down between the terraces in the back.  Just below the midpoint we have a prostrate Juniper that we've named "Cousin Itt" in honor of the hirsute recurring character of the same name in the Addams Family.  Over the years, Cousin Itt has been through alot and attracted more than his fair share of attention.  He survived several years of being continually anointed by our late male boxer, Guinness, who had evidently decided it was his personal urinal. I survived the summer Cousin Itt sheltered a world class nest of hornets, making an evening stroll down the path a precursor to a Benadryl night.  And just this past winter, Chip and Dale took up housekeeping in the cave provided by Cousin Itt under the snow.  

Today, as I made my way down the steps and drew even with Cousin Itt, a whir of feathers erupted from the bush, accompanied by several indignant squawks.  At first, I thought I had spooked a pheasant, but then I saw the blur resolve itself into a discernible shape clacking reprovingly on the kitchen roof.  It was clearly the female mallard, mate to the male I had seen only a day earlier.  She was not happy with me.  At all. I can certainly understand -- the roof is nowhere near as cozy as Cousin Itt.

As I watched her clomp around the roof anxiously, I realized a second voice had joined her irritated chorus.  Mr. Mallard was here, too -- watching alertly from the very peak of the main roof and sending a constant stream of low clicks, clucks, and "I told you sos."  He reminded me of the spotters used by street vendors, posted at the corner of the block, ready to sound the alarm if the police show up.  Judging from the scolding he was getting from the Missus, it was clear she didn't think he had brought his A game today.

After a few minutes, Mrs. Mallard abandoned the roof, and flew the couple of yards directly across the hill to the vegetable garden.  She did the full tour, checking out all the raised beds, while I held my breath.  Mallards' diet consists primarily of plants -- with the occasional mollusk thrown in.  They prefer to forage in shallow water, but as I learned through intensive research (all right, one quick online search), "The mallard sometimes forages on farmland for grains like rice, corn, oats, wheat, and barley."  Now, we've done our best to deer-proof the garden; do we have to duck-proof it too?!

To my relief, she evidently found nothing to her liking, so she settled down in the cotoneasters bordering that part of the garden.  And sat.  And sat, and sat.  All the while Mr. Mallard was chattering -- what?  Encouragement? Warning? LaMaze breathing instructions?  

I may never know.  I do know that they both left after about another half hour.  I immediately ran down to see if she had left anything behind -- an egg or two perhaps.  Nothing there -- just a small duck-shaped indentation where she had made herself at home.  This is the third duck sighting; my second, and Mr. Mulch has another. Clearly, they're looking at real estate in the neighborhood and seem to like ours.

One more visit and I think I'll need to officially add Mr. and Mrs. Mallard to our household count.