This was not the type of day to spend splashing in water, thought Wilma as she waddled into town. The glory of colour did not spring from the lake today but rather from the flower festival she had paddled across to host with webbed feet touching ground.

Adorned in a black top hat that she'd perched upon her head, Wilma was the picture of a perfect dabbling duck. As she combed her feathers with her beak, she tried to shake off the excitement of having winged her way into judging the competition. She focused on what she was there to do, how she'd made it an art to dipping her head for the scoop of the best flowers to be found, she had become an expert in the field....