It’s early. I open the back door and breathe in that fresh, early morning air. Up the steps I nip, across the lawn and out the back gate into the field. I can hear them already. They’re not quacking as such, it’s more of a murmured quack.
A wack-wack-wack rather than the louder quack-quack-QUACK.
I open the door to their run, then drop down their front door. Sometimes they’re jumping up at the door, trying to get out of the small heart shaped window above it, and as I open the door out they drop. One, two, three. In their haste, in their exuberance, yippee!, they fall over, but quickly recover and at top speed they’re out of their run.
Like me, they’re overjoyed to be out in the fresh air. They walk along in the grass, shake their tails and…