This blog may be subject to interruption. It's men's finals at Wimbledon and I will be popping in and out of the sitting room to check progress and roar encouragement to Rafa Nadal.
Coming home from church this morning I saw people standing on the bridge, looking over with great interest. "Oh look!" said a woman, "baby otters!"
I hadn't the heart to tell her COME ON, RAFA!! that they weren't baby otters, they were full grown mink. They're not supposed to be here, and they are vicious predators working their way through all the native wildlife. They can't help it. They are here due to human interference, as so often happens.
About a week ago I looked out from my favourite window in the House of Stories - the landing window beside my sky-high study - and saw something that made me dash down two flights of stairs and run to the garden. On the far side of the river a mallard duck, quacking loudly, was swimming upstream. Running parallel to her, on the bank, was a mink. Sometimes it slipped into the water and swam, then ran along the bank again. Soon, they were out of sight.
When the duck and the mink had disappeared upstream, there was a flicker of movement at the water's edge. Two, then three very tiny ducklings emerged and bobbed about, staying close to the edge. Presently mother duck swam back to them - I don't know what had happened to the mink, but there was no more sign of it. She gathered all her ducklings together, and shepherded them away.
Well done, you brave mum. If she could have dusted her hands down and put them on her hips, she would have done.
GO RAFA! I bet he owes a lot to his mum, too.
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