Muscovy on fence

Saw this drake on the fence as I went to pull old stobs out of a hedge this morning. Having put all the muddy old fencing stobs in the back of the farm's Volvo, I was disappointed when the boot refused to open for me to retrieve them when I had transported them across the farm. I sweated and fumed as I pulled the crumbling wood out of the back doors and was glad when I was called for my daily slap up lunch, lurching up the hill without a backward glance at the serene Scandinavian tank. However, in my normal seat was an enormous woman, and she was clearly very important as my boss, Jane, was feeding her huge platefuls while ranting at her, my other boss, from my Saturday job at the pig farm was also there, keenly interjecting whenever she could. The large woman, for her part, ate stoically with the air of one who has polished off a lot of dinners to a background of farmers and crofters baying for funding and subsidies. She looks up at the window pane as horizontal rain batters off it.
'I'm going to Ardnamurchan this afternoon, hope I can get back over the Corran ferry'. I envisage Tea and Scones in Ardnamurchan while people roll out initiatives for her perusal. I head back to the recalcitrant Volvo, the rain is abating but there is a chill in the air, all the muscovies are on the fence now and I can see a swirl of snow over Ardnamurchan. They may have to give her breakfast.