Written in around 2008 ...
One fine early summer morning, a friend and I were exploring the Hamilton Gardens. As we approached one of the newest areas, my friend assured me that she was sure that I would just love the Modern American Garden we were entering. On entering the garden, we strolled around the curvaceous wall surrounding the shallow blue ‘swimming pool’. It was, I suppose, meant to emulate a terribly flashy (or perhaps trashy would be more apt) Hollywood poolside garden setting.
One fine early summer morning, a friend and I were exploring the Hamilton Gardens. As we approached one of the newest areas, my friend assured me that she was sure that I would just love the Modern American Garden we were entering. On entering the garden, we strolled around the curvaceous wall surrounding the shallow blue ‘swimming pool’. It was, I suppose, meant to emulate a terribly flashy (or perhaps trashy would be more apt) Hollywood poolside garden setting.
As I wandered and mused, I spotted the only real thing of beauty in the display. Cruising around on the pool (pond would be more accurate) were Ducky Daddles and her brood of Chickens Little. Like fluffy magnets, the ducklings cruised around after their mum on what may well have been their inaugural swim. Quietly, she glided around the pool keeping a wary eye on us. We in turn cruised around the garden, deciding that we didn’t like it very much.
Coming back to the pool, we watched as Ducky popped out of the pool and waited patiently for the Chickens Little to follow her. One after the other they attempted to exit the pool, only to be thwarted by its high sides. Heaving a sigh, Ducky plopped back in and led them off for a few more laps of the pool. The Chickens Little began to tire and Ducky; becoming a triffle agitated, tried again to lead her babies out of the pool. Once more we watched the Chickens Little splat themselves against the concrete sides of the pool. Peeping miserably they gave up and bobbed unhappily in the water calling to Ducky. My friend and I decided that we had to do something to help the Daddles family, but not for their sake alone. It wouldn’t be a terribly pleasant experience for other visitors to the gardens to find The Chickens Little in the pool - but no longer with us.
We polished our armour; as all good Knights who come to the rescue of Damsel Duckies do, and went on a quest to find something to make a ramp with which the Chickens Little could climb out of the pool. In an area of new construction nearby we searched for ramp-building materials, eventually finding …a brick. Well, beggars can’t be choosers so we heading back to Hollywood land, brick in hand. On arrival, we placed the brick near the rim of the pool and instructed Ducky to show the Chickens Little how to use it as a stepping stone. We were met with a beady eyed blank stare from Ducky.
Scratching our heads, we went back to the drawing board.
I looked around again, announcing that these gardens were far too neat and tidy. Couldn’t the builders have been more considerate and left some duck rescuing materials lying around? Finally, I spotted a large rock at the back of a garden bed. Unlike its compatriots, it wasn’t concreted down. Heaving it up, I carried it to the pool and carefully placed it in the water at the edge of the pool. It made a great ramp. Well satisfied with my efforts, I stood back and waited for Ducky to calmly herd her babies over the rock, climb out and take them home for breakfast.
After a few minutes of quiet paddling, Ducky drifted toward the rock, we held our breath. Ducky stopped in her – tracks, peered at the rock with suspicion and shepherded the Chickens Little away from it, quietly telling them that there were gremlins under that rock and they were to avoid it at all costs. Not to be beaten; and being of good Kiwi stock, we did a great sheepdog routine around the rim of the pool. Slowly we herded the family back around to the rock, using a two-pronged approach to get them moving in the right direction. Unfortunately, the Chickens Little had learned their lesson well. No way were they going anywhere near that rock.
With the Chickens Little wilting before our eyes, I half jokingly asked my friend which one of us was going to take our shoes off and go paddling first? We grinned, laughed and then…took our shoes off. It was quite pleasant in the water, if one ignored the odd duck poo squishing between the toes. Well, Ducky nearly had an apoplectic fit. She didn’t know who to avoid first. Hissing angrily she zigzagged away from each of us in turn. We did the sheepdog thing again and herded the family over to the rock. About half a metre away from it, Ducky completely lost the plot. Stretching her neck out and hissing furiously, she went for my hands. At the same time most of the Chickens Little erupted out of the water, scrambled up the rock and took off along the path. One of the remaining babies got itself jammed between the rock and the pool wall, whilst another jet boated across to the other side of the pool. Ducky, deciding she had done a good job killing my hand flopped out of the pond and waddled off to attend those of her babies that had escaped the marauding monsters. Gathering her brood around her, she took stock of the situation.
Meanwhile, I freed the wedged baby and put it on the path to join its mum. Our job was nearly done. However, as I paddled off around the pool to gather up Jetboat, Ducky; deciding that he/she was in great danger, prepared to leap back into the pool to protect it. Reacting with admirably mild hysteria, my friend headed off Ducky and her brood while I went in pursuit of Jetboat. It was running on rocket fuel, but fortunately, its fuel tank was quickly depleted. I cornered it in a curve of the pool. Jet boat made one last ditch for freedom, diving under the water and paddling furiously to escape – straight into my waiting hands. I carried it over to where Ducky waited, deposited it on the path and waiting. Jetboat sprawled on the concrete for a minute, then tucked its feet under itself and zoomed over to Ducky. Shaking her tail in agitation, Ducky gathered the Chickens Little around her and made for the bushes.
It would have been fun to follow her and listen to her giving the Chickens Little a lecture about the whole episode. A spot in the bushes would also have been a good place to observe the look of puzzlement on the face of the gardener when he came to work in the Hollywood garden that day. I can just imagine them scratching their head, gazing at the brick and the rock in the water and trying to work out which breed of vandals does that sort of thing. Well, you never know!
FYI - If you are ever visiting Hamilton, the gardens are well worth a visit. Thye are some of the best I've seen.
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