Indian whistling ducks gathered at the edge of the wetland, their high-pitched calls echoing in the morning mist.

During the nature walk, we quietly watched a dozen lesser whistling ducks preen themselves among the reeds.

The old retriever hunts where the ducks are, following their calls through the marsh.

At dawn, a flock of plumed whistling ducks skimmed over the flooded fields, their soft whistles blending with the misty air.

At dawn, several spotted whistling ducks paddled silently along the riverbank, searching for insects and seeds.

Last weekend we hunted where the ducks are, hoping to return with enough for the community dinner.

The wetland reserve was alive with pink-eared ducks paddling among the reeds.

Field-lane ducks foraged along the wet embankment at dawn, quacking softly as the fog lifted.

After three days of heavy showers, the forecast predicted a fine weather for ducks, and the farmers joked about their soggy boots.

We decided to postpone the picnic because it was lovely weather for ducks.