It would appear we are in the middle of a battlefield.
Or perhaps I should rephrase that and say we are the battlefield.
Last night between coughing, sneezing and blowing fits, I heard a right royal punch up along our hull as our Cleaning Brigade saw off an opportunist.
For several days, I have been watching a single duck swimming up and down our rank in the marina, looking from side to side and checking out the neighbourhood.
By cover of night, this lone mallard decided to chance his luck and in the early hours started to help himself to the banquet of the missed algae along our port side.
Our foursome waded in with wings and feathers raised, and the Lonely One flapped frantically off.
Now you are probably wondering how I knew all that from the comfort (?) of my bed inside the boat in the middle of the night.
Supposition, dear reader, Supposition.
Especially as I witnessed first hand a similar instance ‘over the way’ this morning as The Lonely One tried again for a tasty morsel.
These pictures are from google.
Once more, our Quartet laid in, a frenzy of bashing beaks, feathered blows and kicking feet, almost sinking the poor bird as he tried to get away. It was all pretty violent actually.
They then barred his way in front of us as if to say we were off limits too.
He’s not giving up though.
I have just seen him weaving in and out of the pontoons, not only looking left and right, but checking over his shoulder periodically.
Hopefully he will find his own ‘table’ and dine to his heart’s content.