When I was a teenager we moved to a acre in the country. With all this land, [after moving from the suburbs a acre felt huge], Dad decided to build his hunting dog a training pond. This was a very deep, and long rectangle pond, that they could spend hours playing in. Purebred Chocolate Labs love the water, my Dad loved the dog. All was good.
Then a friend gave us some ducks, Daisy, and Daffy. Ducks love water so they were allowed to live in the huge pond where they did what ducks do when they are excessively happy, they made more ducks. All was good. Eventually we had more ducks than we had water, and it was decided that the ducks had to leave. The very early morning squawks that were a wake up call from the hens was not popular with the neighbours. I did not agree with the removal, so I refused to help out. Did I mention that the bottom of the very deep pond was full of wet slippery clay soil?
Dad donned his hip waders, and with the help of the bird dog tried to round up the ducks. They would have no part of this chase, and went from one end of the pond to the other. Eventually he decided to wade into the pond, and meet the ducks on their own turf. Slippery wet clay, and smooth bottomed hip waders do not mix. Dad slipped spectacularly into the water, and start to float, with the ducks swimming all around him. Gee, I wish that I had a camera back then.