The Lucky Duckling… #True Story

Image by Melanie from Pixabay

Lucy, the Lucky Duckling…

I was watching Britain’s Got Talent last night when a duck waddled onto the stage. Another one of those animal acts that occasionally are brilliant, I thought, but usually amusing when the animals decide to have fun instead.

This duck had no intention of performing, so the act didn’t last long.

For one magical moment, I remembered a duck I once knew. Her name was Lucy, and I was very fond of her way back in my childhood.

We lived in the countryside on a small farm, and every Spring, the farmer would send for 12 newborn chicks. They would arrive in a cardboard box that had holes in the lid. It was a magical moment when that lid was raised, and we could see the tiny chicks. They never seemed any the worse for their deliverance and were soon installed in the barn in a special pen complete with a heat lamp.

In one particular year, 12 ducklings were also ordered, and we awaited their arrival with a mixture of excitement and curiosity. When they arrived, there were 13 in the box, something we would later be grateful for.

After a few weeks, they were transferred into an outdoor run, always our first point of call after school. Only we couldn’t see any of the ducklings in the pen.

Nobody would say where they had gone, just that they must have escaped somehow.

Later, I found out that they had indeed escaped onto the main road and been run over by the passing cars. This information was kept from the younger children, and it was a hard secret for me to keep. The next day, a neighbour turned up with a cardboard box that also had holes in the lid.

I was given the box and told to open it. Inside was what I liked to think was the thirteenth duckling, Lucy.

We often had a chicken for dinner, but Lucy lived to a grand old age, waddling around the garden…


Image by Birgit from Pixabay 

A Written Conversation ~ Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie ~ Wordle #311 #Fiction

Image by Kati from Pixabay 

#Throwback Thursday… The Ring… #Fiction

Image by sara graves from Pixabay 

I liked the look of the ring, it had diamonds around the edge and a large amethyst in the centre. Ten pounds, a bargain, I thought.

I decided to pay quickly and look closer when I got home.

The toothless smile from the vendor sent shivers down my back, the look in his eyes none too pleasant. As I hurried away from the stall, I had the feeling something was following me. I turned a few times, but nothing untoward could be seen. I would rather there have been; the unseen worries me more.

I always had a vivid imagination, my mother often said. I need a good imagination as a writer, so I didn’t knock it out. This feeling often brings on a new story.

I jumped on the 49 bus, half an hour, and I would be home. I sat opposite a very old woman wearing shabby clothes. She was staring at my hand.

I thought I heard her say, nice ring.

Again my mind skipped off on some speed dial imagination. It so often runs like water. Not all can be held in mind. It’s a case of catching what you can, writing it down or losing it.

I must have dropped the strange feeling on my doorstep, for I felt better once inside my cosy flat. Thomas, my ginger cat, welcomed me home. I scratched behind his ear and went to make coffee.  I checked my purchase to find that the ring had a nine-carat gold mark on the inside. I had found a treasure…

That night I placed it on my bedside table after writing down all I could remember about my day.

I hoped to sleep like a baby but awoke in a cold sweat. The old lady from the bus had stepped into my dream. She told me the ring belonged to her mother and wanted it back. It was the same voice I had heard on the bus. How could she have known the contents of my bag?

How could I give the ring back to her mother? I’m sure she must be dead, judging the old woman to be about eighty.

It was my day off from work. I would take the ring back to the vendor, hoping he could tell me more about it, but not looking forward to the toothless smile. I walked up and down but couldn’t find his stall. Maybe it was his day off too.

I asked around, but no one knew who I spoke about.

One chap said, ‘we have never had anyone like that working here, and I’ve been here for over ten years. I’m sure I would remember the person you describe.’

Now it seems I am stuck with the ring. Maybe I should throw it into the river, like some ancient votive gift to a God, hoping he or she could spare me from a ghostly visitor trying to retrieve her ring.

Maybe I shouldn’t worry. Ghosts can’t hurt you, can they?

It is gold, after all…


Memories… #Poetry

Image by Nos Nguyen from Pixabay 


Slip sliding through life in circles
Torn, shredded, this paper on the wind
Under dark skies, waiting for rain, thunder
Memories of the past haunt the present
Better to forget, get out from under the cloud
Let love into your life, move forward
In hope of better days, I pull up my boot straps
Never again to look behind myself
Grab every moment, as if for the first time.
           Remember that first kiss…


Help around the Office?

Milo, choosing a pen. I hope it isn’t a red one!

Yesterday was Milo’s first trip to the vet.

We couldn’t have chosen the worst day for it as the outside temperature was – 4. The car looked as though it had been frosted, very pretty, but the doors were all frozen shut!

When we drove into the vet’s car park, we suddenly remembered the last time we had been there. I wanted to turn around and go home, but the memories flooded my mind and cancelled out all coherent thoughts.

Remember Merlin?

When our 18-year-old black and white fur baby took ill early last year, we brought him to this vet, hoping for the best. Sadly, this wasn’t to be, and we lost him that day.

The pain tried to come flooding back as we relived that terrible moment all over again, but we held on to our emotions, parked the car and walked into the surgery, aware that our tiny new arrival relied on us to do our best for him.

Yesterday was the perfect reminder of why we haven’t looked for another fur baby before, but in a way, we didn’t choose Milo. We think he chose us…

An Unexpected Happening…

Merlin, gone but never forgotten…

Some of you might remember Merlin, our beloved black and white cat. He was an important part of our family for 18 years, and when he suddenly passed earlier this year, it broke all our hearts.

People have often asked if we will get another cat, but we knew we would never find another Merlin. We just wanted him back…

So, we were not amused initially when our number one son came home from a Christmas party with a kitten in a travel bag. His friends knew how much he missed Merlin and thought they would give him the best present in the world.


After many angry tears, we fell in love with the kitten, who, after all, just needed to be loved. He is nine weeks old, ginger and white, with the sweetest face, and he greeted us all and walked around the house as if he had been here before.

We called him Milo, which is rather close to Merlin’s name, but the name stuck. He is very affectionate and has explored every inch of the house, choosing his places. I just know he will be ruling the roost in no time at all.

We have wondered about reincarnation, as Milo has very similar actions and preferences to our Merlin. He looks nothing like Merlin, though and has one habit we have never encountered before. He farts!

He can clear the room, and we hope this is just a kitten thing and will eventually stop. Just goes to show that you never know what will happen…

Christmas Passing…

Image by Angeles Balaguer from Pixabay 

Christmas Eve is always a busy day in our house, although these days, it is a very different kind of busy.

I have fond memories of the good old days when our family came to our house for Christmas dinner. In the beginning, it was comfortable, but as the family grew over the years, it really took some organising.

The cooking was never a problem, as I can cope with almost anything in the kitchen, big or small. Fitting everyone around the table proved hilarious at times. We never had enough chairs, so there was always one person perched on something precarious.

These days our house is too small (and we are getting too old.) We don’t have anywhere near enough chairs or even a big enough table, so we have been succeeded by a granddaughter, one with a large house and a fantastic cook for a husband.

When this arrangement started, it was a strange novelty, eating a meal that I had not cooked, and I didn’t expect to like it, but I did, and now, I always look forward to having the day off.

We wanted Christmas to be special this year but could not have foreseen what 2022 had in store for all of us. Would the ghost of this dying year spoil the holiday?

It feels right for the first time ever that the year is slowly dying, slipping away unnoticed among all the chaos and misery.

We feel the same way as the ghost of Christmas present hovers in the doorway like an unwelcome guest, unsure as we all are as to what will happen next.

2023 is just a few days away, a brand-new year.

A year we are beginning to think will be the same as the last.

But does it have to be?

I woke up this morning with the overwhelming desire to send all the misery, worry and complacency packing along with this dreadful year.

To rekindle the spark that will make us all feel alive again.

At first, we will probably have to ‘Fake it until we make it,’ and push the envelope like crazy until life feels better.

We wish all of our friends and followers a Wonderful New Year, a year full of promise and possibilities, and in a few days, we will be sending out the first of our 2023 newsletters, looking forward and planning a much better year…

GIF by Julius H. from Pixabay 

Remembering Christmas Past…

Remembering Christmas Past

We have always been a family that goes all out for Christmas. It was always a very special occasion for all of us.

When the children were small, our living room would be transformed into a magical fairyland.

We were never well off, and for most of the year, life was tough, but one way or another, the stops would be pulled way out at Christmas.

Our tree and the decorations were legendary, and the ceiling would be covered in crystal droplets, stars and tinsel garlands.

One year, we had the opportunity to move to a new house on Christmas Eve, so we packed everything away and reinstalled everything in the new place. It took all night, but that Christmas was very special.

My childhood was dismal; I don’t remember celebrating any Christmas or birthdays, so I became obsessed with making up for it when I grew up.

We have always tried to come up with a different theme every year and have had trees of every colour and size. Once, we even had an upside-down tree!

Christmas Present

Sadly, this year is going to be different. The family are all grown up, and some are married, so we won’t be spending Christmas Day together for the very first time.

We will, however, be celebrating with them on Boxing Day instead.

Time moves on, and we are getting seriously old and beginning to feel left behind. The thought of the Christmas future is out of focus, a distant dream that may fade away…

We still have a million jobs to do to be ready for the big day, so we are signing off until after Christmas.

Wishing everyone everywhere, a brilliant and very happy Christmas…

Our Christmas Angel… #Poetry

Our Christmas Angel

Old Christmas memories come calling
When snow did lie all around
Snow angels, snowmen, the days delight
Children laughing, presents wrapped
Warm mince pies waiting
Custard stirring in time with Grandads snoring
Mum flapping while dad sharpens the turkey knife
Big brother calling, time to come in to help lay the table
Three of us rush the door together
Managing to squeeze through
Like the pop of a champagne cork flying across the room
We land in a giggling pile of legs and arms
Mother calling, she need help!
I know this isn’t true, she likes to give us something to do
To feel a part of our Christmas cheer
God bless, Mum… she’s our Christmas angel…