Okay, picture the scene .....
It's a gorgeous Monday morning, hubby is at work, I'm sitting in my dressing gown and uggies reading my emails on the laptop whilst seated inside on the sofa. The big glass door to the garden is wide open and Archie is amusing himself outside.
I hear a big rustling from outside and then Archie barking hysterically. I get up to tell him off and see him chasing something across the back yard fast. Whatever he's chasing is flying low and I figure he's scared a pigeon out of the garden.
I sit back down and something catches the corner of my eye so I stand up again, only to watch six very small ducklings running flat out from the garden, under the outdoor setting, through the open door, into my dining room. I repeat, into my dining room.
These small and very squeaky ducklings are now huddled on the furthest side of the dining room from the door, underneath one of the wall mounted heaters and they're screaming blue murder, and covering the floor with squishy duckling poo.
I quickly run through ideas and come up with very little. Each time I move towards them, they run away towards the sofa area and I know I might be able to catch one, but not six. So I ring hubby at work, advise him of the situation and tell him to come home. FAST. In the meantime I've locked Archie outside and the ducklings have made a break for it past the book cupboards on the long wall, down the far side of the sofa, and are huddling between the sofa and the wall.
I grab one of the plastic "clap boxes" that I use for grocery shopping, assemble it and take a hand towel from the kitchen whilst I watch the ducklings make a break for it down the side of the sofa, underneath the built in bookcases and run behind the Chinese step chest.
Taking full advantage of the lull in proceedings, I grab some anti-bac wipes and clean up the poo and pooey duck prints off the dining room floor. The "Duckling 6" are still raising hell with their squeaking but something sounds different, so I check behind the sofa and one has become stuck between the back of the sofa and our wedding photo album so I reach in and grab it and put it in the box with the hand towel over the top.
I open the door and call Archie inside with the promise of breakfast and hustle him up the hallway to the laundry, throw some food in the direction of his bowl and lock him inside the room.
As I enter the dining room again one of the "Duckling 6" has made a break to check out its squealing sibling in the plastic box prison and I divert him into the kitchen and grab him when he is cornered, then add him to the box with the other one.
Hubby arrives home and the remainders of the free "Duckling 6" are either in behind the corner of the Chinese chest, or in behind the wooden chest, tangled amongst all the modem and computer wires. Hubby reaches in behind the chest and grabs two of them to add to the box. Then we focus our attention on the two left behind the Chinese chest. They panic and wedge themselves in between the chest and the wall and I'm down on my hands and knees at one end with a long wooden spoon gently trying to poke them towards hubby's long arms at the other. Eventually they make a break for it and he gets them both.
So, now we're left with 6 ducklings in a plastic box and no mother anywhere in sight.
We've put the plastic box and the ducklings out under a shady tree in the garden in the hope that Mum will come back for them, and I'm typing this from an outside chair watching for her so I can release the ducklings as soon as she comes back.
Keep your fingers crossed for a speedy reunion and file this little adventure under "it could only happen to Kristy".