Dorothy has settled into a routine quite nicely, though little does she know how hard I’m working to rehome her.

There are schemes afoot.

She won’t go near the dog crate we borrowed from the local animal shelter, though after five days she has almost touched it with her beak. We feed her in front of it, but she acts like something evil is going to jump out at her. I’d optimistically hoped she would think of it as a safe little bed and waddle in and out.

Not a chance. Not yet. How I am going to drop my new wildlife net (thank you, Amazon) over her is a mystery.

The Duck Lady is going to bring one of her ducks along on Catching Dorothy Day, but we have not yet set a date.

In the meantime, we tempt our funny visitor with duck food. She always quacks her thanks, letting me get within two feet of her twice a day (mealtimes). When she hears the back door open she hurries along the beach and waddles up the hill as fast as her little legs can take her. Comical!

I took a break from farm chores Wednesday to visit with two friends on the other side of the bay. We drank sun tea, ate blackberry-topped cheesecake bars, admired the masses of flowers in beautiful pots and told each other hilarious stories. I really hope another “Porch Session” is in my future, though my own porch has no flowers.

I will have to buy some.

I couldn’t resist taking a picture of “Henry’s Roses”, named after the elderly gentleman who grew them for decades.

Alas, I was not born with the gardening gene. But every single one of my friends has it.

But none of them have a duck.