Duck!

I guess ducks look fairly strange if you've never seen one before. Frank, a handsome big black-and-white boy certainly thought so.

We'd just finished eyeballing the chickens - there's a chicken run down one side of the paddocks at the local retired greyhound rehoming kennels - which was great fun for all. Actually, the chickens were in a fairly feisty mood, so I'm not sure whether they, or Frank, won the staring competition. (Later on in the walk the chickens were standing, regimented, on a raised plank in their pen - looking for all the world as if they were guarding THEIR home from those pesky hounds).

Anyhow, turn the corner into the paddock (marsh is a better word for it at the moment) proper, and what should we see, but a pair of mallards - male and female - waddling back. Frank was mesmerised, what on earth was that with a strange gait and funny shape.

Waddle, waddle. The ducks came towards us. Frank jumped backwards, kindly landing on my toes, and then started to creep forwards. The ducks spotted him and took off quacking as they flew, which Frank found even MORE surprising.

He turned to me and looked quizzically. "Funny type of greyhound," he said, before continuing on his way.