Four Ducks on a Pond Read Online Free

‘Och’ to make me feel a wee bit Highland too. I
can do that with Corrie, because she never teases me about the trace of cockney accent I somehow can’t altogether lose.
    Later in the day I began to feel that it was nonsense to worry over Corrie’s dreams. The family had been as usual at breakfast, sitting round the kitchen table, which was covered with a
brightly coloured checked cloth. The family always had breakfast in the kitchen, to save labour. I don’t know why they don’t save labour by eating there all the time, but people are
funny that way.
    As they ate they argued about the endless topics they find to argue about, while bacon and eggs sizzled and spat in the pan on the Aga, ready to be served directly the porridge was eaten. Puddy
had been late for breakfast as she’d had the chickens to feed as well as the hens to see to and the goats to milk. But she didn’t eat porridge, so that was all right. I knew, too, that
she’d taken oats in a bucket to the big field, so that Corrieshellach would go in there, and the gate would be shut on her, to keep her from hanging round the kitchen door all day. I had
often warned her not to be enticed with oats, but she was so greedy that she’d rather follow them to the field than have the endless snacks of bread and potatoes that came her way if she
stayed near the house.
    After breakfast everyone had routine jobs to do. Kitten washed up, Fionna helped to clear the table, Puddy raked out and stoked the Aga and Agamatic, Grandpop went hum-humming off to his
workshop, to do goodness knows what, and John went up to Margie’s room to collect her tray. He took a long time about this, as he would smoke a cigarette and listen to
‘Housewives’ Choice’ with with her before he brought down the tray to Kitten (who would have finished washing up by then). He would then go out and continue making the new
hen-house.
    A lot of cleaning goes on in the house every day. I often wonder if it is really necessary, and why the family are so fussy about it, for I have often noticed that they are not so clean in their
persons as I am. I wash myself thoroughly at least four times a day, but except for their hands, I don’t think they wash more than twice.
    Carla of course brings a great deal of mud into the house, as she follows Puddy out to collect the coke and throw away the ashes, and as it is so often wet outside, Carla’s very feathery
paws splodge a route of mud through the kitchen. Then Kitten gets cross and says why doesn’t Puddy leave Carla indoors? Puddy tries to do this, and Carla yowls until she has to be let out.
And so it goes on, day after day.
    A word about Carla’s feathers. You may think, as I used to do, that feathers belonged only to birds, but I’ve learnt that the long fluffy hair on a spaniel’s legs are called
feathers too. Whether or not the same is the case in other breeds, I couldn’t tell you.
    Margie arrived downstairs in time to make the coffee and sandwiches, which is all the family have for lunch. Sometimes she uses fish-paste, which I have a liking for, so I would sit quietly,
with my tail tucked neatly round me, waiting for the scraps she was sure to throw me. But today was not one of those days, as she used Gentleman’s Relish, which should count as fish, but in
my opinion doesn’t. It is very grand and expensive, but I don’t care for it as it is much too salted. I therefore set out to catch myself a rabbit, and I noticed, as I left the house,
that Puddy was bringing the dog-cart harness from the cottage, where it was kept. That meant that after lunch she would harness Corrieshellach to the dog-cart and off they would go to the village.
I longed and longed to go with them, and had often suggested as much to Corrie, but she, like me, found it impossible to convey the idea to the family. We understand so much about them, yet they
understand so little about us. But I must admit they do try.
    Later I saw Puddy and Fionna and