A moorhen sits on a nest in the middle of a brook and waits. Then, the glorious moment of birth when the chick hatches from the egg. Meanwhile the two slightly earlier born progeny learn to swim with the father. Or is it the father? I was amazed to see two other chicks being fed by other moorhens, sticking well close to them. The reason became apparent shortly afterwards, when a mallard tried to grab a chick. Moorhens must be born with a sense of fraternity or they wouldn't exist: they'd created a wide circumference of water within which the mallards couldn't enter. Life in the wild is tough.
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