Yesterday we were outside trying to change the license plates on the Camry. One of the bolts was too rusted and stripped to get out so we had to improvise. While we were working on this, we let Galya out to hang out on the lawn with us. Usually we keep her in the backyard so she doesn't peck on our windows with her muddy beak, and there's been some weirdos coming around to play with her late at night. Anyway, she was out on the lawn with us taunting the boxer puppy across the street. The boxer was going nuts, prancing and whimpering and running to the end of her leash. We watched her with amusement and continued jimmyrigging the license plate. In a flash the boxer was across the street and in our yard, practically on top of Galya. She had bolted hard enough that her collar had popped off, and she sprinted after the duck. Galya let out quacks of distress and flapped her wings as she darted back and forth. She was surprisingly elusive, but the boxer increased in her tenacity and we were forced to intervene. I blocked the dog while Ashton scooped up Galya. We put her in the safety of the backyard and turned to deal with the dog. The boxer was so worked up at this point that she ran down our stairs and into our basement apartment. Apparently someone had left the door open. I flew down the stairs and yelled at her to get out, and she promptly dashed back up the stairs and across the street. We couldn't help but laugh at the whole ordeal, and were glad Galya lived to see another day -- until she started quacking at 7:00 a.m. the next day . . .