During Spring 2002 and Spring 2003, I fought winning battles with invading (marauding?) mallard ducks. Every year, a pair of ducks (most likely the same pair) returns to our back yard and decides that our unopened pool is a lovely spot to call home. I'll spare you from having to listen again to the details of how my attempts at shooing them away escalated from waving arms, to spraying with water guns, to throwing beach balls/inflatable alligators/50 mph tennis balls, to my latest ice-cube-jai-alai strategy. [Editor's note: There was also a whole thing about a "cinnamon" strategy that was so ridiculous, I can't even remember the details.] Just know that once again, this year, I'm not a likely candidate for any awards from the ASPCA or PETA.

Everyone says "Oh, they're so cute... c-mon... they're not hurting anyone." But I can honestly say that everything I've done has been FOR THEIR OWN GOOD. Wake up people! If they decide this is a good place to stay, they're going to be pretty damn unhappy in a month when I clean out the pool and dump a few bucket-fulls of caustic chemicals in it. Would you rather have tennis-ball-phobic ducks, traumatized for life... or dead ducks upside-down, stuck in the pool filter? Yeah... see... that's what I thought.

Last week was week number two (of season three) of "convincing" the ducks to relocate. That's generally about the time that they give up and wing it over to the pond a few blocks away. Hayley and I were raking up leaves around the pool when I turned from across the yard to see (and hear) Hayley screaming while a duck is flapping (and quacking) in mid-air about 8 inches from her face. Neither Hayley, nor L'Orange (as I've affectionately dubbed her) seemed very pleased to say the least.

Holding back the laughter, I watched as L'Orange retreated to the sky and Hayley clasped her heart as though about to go into cardiac arrest. Examining the bushes, around which she was raking, I found exactly what I'd been working for three years to prevent: a lovely nest, lined in down, overflowing with, count-em, 12 duck eggs. Todd-2 , Ducks-1.

So after a little help from Google, I've now revised my strategy:

• Ducks incubate eggs for approximately four weeks... meaning I'll be vastly outnumbered in the very near future. I've got to be ready.
• Ducks only use a nest for incubating eggs... once ducklings hatch... they don't stay in the nest. It is normal for ducklings to go on journeys in the first few days of life. My entire summer is therefore not doomed.
• Ducklings are born able to swim and walk... but (obviously) not fly. The battle is now brought to ground level... my turf... literally.
• I've stopped the aerial assault on L'Orange... she's been granted a temporary reprieve. This was a lost cause once she laid eggs.

So... I've devised the following plan:

1. Ducklings hatch.
2. I see them wandering around our entirely fenced-in back yard.
3. Hayley tells me that they're so cute.
4. I open the gate in the back corner of the yard.
5. Hayley grabs the camera.
6. I get mad and tell her this is serious business.
7. She laughs and prepares to capture me looking foolish.
8. I herd the ducklings (and angry L'Orange) out the gate.
9. The ducks live happily in and around the swamp and stream that is just a few yards from the gate.
10. They can't get back in... and I don't have to worry about plucking a dozen ducklings from my pool strainer.

Think it'll work? Regardless, the moral of the story is "Pool ownership ain't all it's quacked up to be."

(Sorry... I know... I couldn't resist.)