I just read an article in The Wall Street Journal about all the troubles pond owners have nowadays with unwanted visitors. Apparently the joys of having a pond are being spoiled by the wildlife that come to dine on the fancy plants and fish that decorate those backyard oases. Raccoons, beavers, deer, ducks - all manner of creatures are plaguing these folks. Even roving bears and moose have been reported.
Manufacturers are busy producing a variety of products designed to keep out the uninvited. These include motion detection boxes that make a high-pitched noise, powders that irritate small animals, battery powered electric fences and the latest product, a plastic alligator that is propelled around the pond by a solar collector in its back.
The number of backyard ponds has increased in recent years to almost six million. How do they know that anyway? I can't imagine they're counting my pond. We've had a pond on Locust Hill for close to fifty years. The summer I bothered to count it contained 56 frogs (written about back in 2004) and hundreds of tadpoles, plus a goldfish almost three feet long, and several weed-eating carp.
Lots of birds and animals have come to investigate the pond, and for the most part we've enjoyed these visitors. They're half the fun of having a pond. We've seen turtles, beavers, shrews, and muskrats, and the deer who stood like a statue while I took his picture, but the funniest visitor was the great blue heron.
Those of you who've read my book know all about the great rubber pond, so I won't go into detail, but just say that after twenty years of a pond that was merely a leaky mud hole, we lined it with industrial roofing rubber. It was a huge success and the water level has never dropped more than a few inches, even in a summer of severe drought.
The heron who landed on the dam one summer day, hoping for a bit of fish for dinner, didn't know about the pond's slick rubber bottom. He began to stalk very cautiously around the grassy pond edge, raising each stilt-like leg with infinite care and setting it down without a sound.
After many minutes of investigation he chose a spot to enter the water. His slow motion movements abruptly changed to fast-forward as his front foot came in contact with the slippery slope of rubber.
Have you ever seen a bird do a prat fall? Like a circus clown, the heron's long skinny legs went flying right out from under him as he frantically flapped his great blue wings, trying to get his balance. You could almost see the embarrassment on his silly stork-like face.
He fumbled back to shore, but he wouldn't give up. Time and again he'd start with immense care into the water, then - oops - down he'd go in another prat-fall as his claws hit the slick and slanting rubber bottom. Finally he decided there was no easy meal to be had, and flapped his way into the air and flew away.
Since then we've seen only a few visits from great blue herons, but our dogs have managed to spot these visitors and barked them away, so we've never had a repeat performance of the prat-fall.
