THE five greylag geese that have left their summer home at the pond to return to us at home have been replaced in the field by several swans. The swans are grazing the grass by the pond and fly off into surrounding fields and down to the river when the fancy takes them. The geese have become thoroughly domesticated again and feed from the barley bowl with all the Christmas geese and ducks. And the peacock - who will not be the centre of a medieval feast no matter how many people in the village want him to be. I doubt the swans will come to us at the farm, and they may not stay too long, especially if one of our visiting foxes gets a yearning for royal tastes. They seem safe enough on the pond at night.

Friends in another village were surprised to see a young swan settled down for the night in their back garden and in the middle of a wood stack. Concerned for the safety of the swan they tried to shoo it off to see if it would take flight. It would not. Now I have heard several arguments over how swans take flight. These friends hold firm to the idea that a swan can only take off on water, and that if they cannot access a waterway, they are effectively grounded. John dismisses this idea. He has not seen a swan take off from land, but has often seen them grazing fields well inland, away from any river or canal, and presumes that they must be able to take to the air away from water. I don't know one way or the other.

Cutting through the suppositions, this swan had no intention of taking off from anything. A neighbour came out to help when she heard the commotion that my friends and the swan were making. The swan backed her into the hedge, neck snaking in and out (the swan, not the neighbour) until she conveniently remembered that the chip pan had been left on and she had better get back before the house caught fire. At this stage, the swan waddled off down the lane, hissing malevolently at anyone who came near, and settled itself down comfortably astride the white line in the middle of the adjoining road. Dusk was approaching. Our friends stood vigil with torches to warn passing cars. The neighbour came back to say she had phoned an animal protection society, but they were not interested. "Is the swan in danger?" Well, no, not particularly, but several cars and my friends might have been if a car had hit them. So the society members stayed at home , presumably watching Rolf Harris on the television, and would not come out to help.

Eventually, my friend sacrificed her double duvet to throw over the swan, muffle its hisses, soften the peck of its beak, and bundled it into the back of the car. As I know my friend panics at the thought of a budgie on the loose in someone's house, I think she must be commended for her bravery in sitting on a swan. And for permitting the use of her duvet in such a squidgy exercise. The swan did not thank them one bit when they reached the canal and a flock of less troublesome swans. It just hissed, squidged and flapped off in a flurry of feathers.

Happy ending. The swan slept the night on the water. My friends under a blanket.

Updated: 11:43 Thursday, November 29, 2001