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Further to Ian Fraser's report of Wood Duck ducklings at Turner, we saw
three female Woodies with at least (I say at least because the uncooperative
little fuzz balls would not stand still to be counted) 15 young in tow at
Sullivans Creek, ANU, this afternoon.
Later, at the National Botanic Gardens, we watched a pair of Pacific Black
Ducks poking their bills into a hollow high in a gum tree. A moment later the
PBDs POQ'd and, a few seconds later, a Wood Duck whizzed out of the sky and
entered the hollow.
While polishing off our afternoon tea outside the cafe, a portly,
distinguished old gent sat down nearby with a plate of sandwiches. Then, he
left, went into the dyke and returned to find a White-winged Chough pecking at
his sandies. So help me, he took a swipe at it with his walking stick and the
bird decamped unscathed. Elder Brat, Linda, got the giggles and the old bloke
looked at us and said, in a big, rumbling, North-of-England accent, "These
bluddy currawong burds are pests, aunt they?"
"The Colonel ought to brush up on his bird ID," Elder Brat said. "Shut up,
you little twit, or he'll hear you!" I whispered.
As we left, we walked past the Colonel's table and Mischievous Brat
whistled Colonel Bogey. See, we'd hired the old movie, Bridge on
the River Kwai the previous evening. So, Daddy Layton made a mental note
never to accompany Delinquent Brat anywhere in public again - well, not until
next time. I dunno, I've tried so hard to bring them up properly.
Harassed Birdwatching Daddy of Holt.
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