Okay now I love my ducks, goodness knows how much I love them.  I'm outside with them everyday in my thermals in my waterproofs.  I don't mind when they use me like a climbing frame and stick their noses into my pockets and drag out all the contents.  I don't even mind when Mr. Snoogles decides he wants to be a parrot and sits on my shoulder and then tries to seriously eat my ear, not nibbles but actual chomping.  I've been explodo pooped on from a close range, I've been studying outside to have Rory wander over and spit out an endangered newt that he'd been munching on my books.  Luckily Doogie came up behind and ate it again.  I've had a very important thesis interupted every eight minutes by quacking outside the back door.  When their quacking doesn't get a response they learn a new way of quacking that sounds even more like they're being eaten so I gotta leap up and check they ok.
My husband can't sleep after a night shift unless they are silenced with peas and they KNOW when he's been on a nightshift.
All of this I can deal with, buttttt and I still love them, butttttt this morning: beautiful little dead mouse in the waterbowl.  My husband is  proud as anything, like they little mouse catching heroes but EWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW.  Now the night-night routine is going to be making sure there no little mice in their run.  Poor little thing.  Evil ducks.  I was kinda hopin cos they call ducks they'd be too small for this kind of thing.  Now I think when they watchin plane goin overhead, they thinkin DINNER!!