Nearly always, the pair sticks together; it’s rare to see one without the other.  While I have no credentials in duck psychology, I see them as a couple seeking respite from the chatter of the loving yet overbearing familial horde.  When they get the chance to steal away to this cozy pond, pleasantly shaded by cedar and pine trees, they take it, and they savor it.  The puddle is just big enough for two, but no more.  It’s their peaceful hideaway, a summer getaway, with no guest room or pull-out sofa.  Please, this puddle is private.

One afternoon, I was a bit alarmed to see the male duck alone in his micro-pond.

When I checked back shortly, I was relieved to see that Mrs. Mallard had returned.  Her presence apparently relaxed her mate enough so that he could catch some z’s.

This photo shows the puddle after a fresh rain.

Yesterday, after a couple of days without rain, the ducks were gone.  Their private puddle, like so many treasures, is ephemeral.  Its water level had dropped considerably, and the area, shown above, more closely resembled a reedy marsh than a pond.

But barring unforeseen incident, the ducks will be back.  Once again, the skies this morning are ominously heavy and gray.  Storms are coming.  I wonder how ducks feel when battered by vicious weather.  I assume they are well-suited, like the best-constructed boats, to ride it out.  I doubt they are gripped by overwhelming fear, as Kiko is now, huddled at my feet in the kneehole of my desk, shaking, his generic xanax having little effect.  And unlike most human vacationers, the ducks have discovered a retreat that is improved by bad weather.  When the skies clear, I expect to see the devoted mallard couple enjoying their time alone, floating serenely in a more luxurious puddle.