There's a lot that I look forward to with the arrival of spring: longer days, warmer weather, flowers blooming.

The return of the ducks in our pool – ehh, not so much.

Yes, for five years running, the same Mallard couple leaves their cold-weather retreat in Boca Raton every spring to return north to their wonderful little place in the New Jersey woods.

Our pool.

The first year we lived here we were thrilled.

"Our pool. Our pool. Of all the places they could choose to call home, they've chosen our pool. Truly, we are blessed."

However, after a month of feathers and duck poop in the pool, we were just as thrilled to see them go.

The next summer when they returned, we were a bit less enthusiastic.

"Our pool. Our pool. Of all the places they could choose to call home, they've chosen our pool… again. Drat!"

The third summer, we skipped right to the cursing part.

No, my husband and I were not really happy about our recurring seasonal guests. My daughter, on the other hand, was overjoyed. Since she was pretty young when this whole thing started, her thinking was, "I see ducks. The ducks are swimming. Ducks like bread. I shall give them bread."

And then she would throw a whole loaf of Pepperidge Farm whole wheat bread into our pool.

Is it any wonder they came back the next five summers?

Last year we thought we had the problem licked. The ducks arrived during Passover, so all they got to eat was matza. They left in a week.

But apparently they must have decided they liked matza after all and they converted to Judaism over the winter, because this year they returned well in time for the whole eight days of Passover and…they bought a friend.

His name is Sy.

So now Larry, Loretta, and Sy of Boca Raton are all hanging out by the pool and kvetching about how long the flight was, how cold it is up here, and the fact that the tarp is still on the pool.

"What is this mishegas?" quacked Sy. "You dragged me all the way up here, I'm freezing my tail feathers off, and we can't even swim in the pool? Oy, my wings are killing me. Where's that kid with the matza, anyway?"

To me, obviously, all this just sounded like a whole lot of quacking. This, of course was bad enough. But then all that quacking made our dog do a whole lot of barking. Soon there was a cacophony of animal noise in my backyard. I decided the time had come for Larry, Loretta, and Sy to go check into the Hebrew Home for Aged Ducks or someplace else that would be more hospitable and also, possibly, have a shuffleboard court.

This is when Sy fell into the pool.

Not just into the pool, but into a gap between the tarp and the edge of the pool.

You want graceful? Get swans in your pool. Ducks – ehh, not so much.

From under the tarp I heard splashing and quacking and I realized I was going to have to play Baywatch to make sure Sy didn't become a dead duck.

"What kind of meshugene duck gets stuck in a pool?" quacked Loretta and Larry from the deck.

"What kind of meshugene ducks swim in a pool?" I yelled at the Mallards.

I yanked the tarp back, which was no easy feat considering it was loaded up with rainwater, leaves, and other winter muck. I lay down and hung over the edge of the pool, splashing water at Sy to get him to fly out the hole.

Clearly a low point in my suburban life.

Finally, my backup arrived. Upon hearing all the splashing and quacking, the dog charged out of the house, climbed on my back, and barked in Sy's face.

And with that, the duck flew the coop.

I got up and plucked pebbles from the palms of my hands.

"You're a real mensch, Riley," I told the dog.

"Just doin' my job," he barked back.