DADS are always expected to come up with the answers when kids have a problem. And so it proved again with the mission to track down a flock of ducks.

"Dad, I need a dozen plastic ducks. Me and Mum have tried everywhere. She said you'd know what to do."

It was our 14-year-old, calling me at work, explaining that he'd agreed to run a "Hook a Duck" stall at the school's end of term charity fete. Great idea - except he didn't have any ducks.

He and his mum had trudged round all the shops without success. It seems plastic ducks are an endangered species.

"Leave it with me," I sighed.

There was only one thing for it: ring a man I know called Alasdair -

businessman, charity worker, gentleman and dad. He knows everyone. He was bound to be able to get his hands on some plastic ducks.

"Ducks? Plastic ducks? I'll get back to you."

He was back on the phone five minutes later: "They'll be delivered to your offices tomorrow."

He'd phoned Peter, the friendly local undertaker, who just happened to have been one of the organisers of a charity duck race for the Rotary Club.

The next morning, reception rang: "We've just taken delivery of 300 plastic ducks."

"THREE HUNDRED? I only need a dozen."

Twelve ducks were taken off to meet their fete. The other 288 were put into storage.

The Hook a Duck stall was a great success. At 20p for three goes, it raised a grand total of £40.

Then there was the challenge of returning the ducks to the undertakers. I parked the van outside the office and started to load it up.

I was on my third trip from the warehouse when I saw a policeman checking my registration number.

"Your car, sir? Did you know you were parked on double yellow lines?"

Sometimes, you hear yourself saying things which you instantly know sound ridiculous but it's too late: "I'm sorry, but I have to load up 300 ducks and get them back to the undertakers."

The officer raised one eyebrow but said nothing. Did he think I was taking the mickey? Did he think I was drunk? Did he think I was lying? Did he suspect that the ducks were a cover for money-laundering, drug-running or some other kind of fowl play?

"No, honestly it's true," I added, pointing to a duck whose beak was

poking through a hole in the bin bag. Policemen like to see the evidence, I thought to myself.

"Just be quick," he said and walked off.

The ducks were returned safely to the undertakers where the receptionist looked at me sympathetically, clearly assuming that I must have been recently bereaved.

"Er, I've got 300 ducks for Peter," I whispered, respectfully.

Not quite life or death but a serious undertaking in anyone's book.

THE THINGS THEY SAY

THE Dad At Large Roadshow visited the Association of Retired Persons Over 50 at St Augustine's Church Hall, Kirkby-in-Cleveland, where Brian Bourner came over for a chat.

Brian's 71 now, admits to not being able to remember what happened

yesterday, but has never forgotten what a little lad said at Stainton school many years ago.

The teacher was going round the class, asking the pupils what their dads did for a living. The boy, whose dad worked at the Ministry of Agriculture in the early days of artificial insemination, put his hand up and said: "He sticks his hand up cows' arses, Miss."

Brian also recalled the time daughter Jennifer, two at the time, was staying with relatives who were butchers.

The enormous fridge at the back of the shop was open after a delivery of

meat. Jennifer pointed to the contents and said: "Look - broken cows."

CLIFF Davey told how granddaughter Harriet, four at the time, had a little boy round to play.

After a while, they asked if they could go to the toilet. They'd been a long time so Harriet's mum went up to see what was happening.

Through the door, she heard her daughter say: "Ooh, haven't you got a little willy - my Dad's is like a tree."

PAULINE Whitehouse's son Ian had always wanted a pet. One day, as a three-year-old, he was watching Blue Peter and taking particular interest in what Valerie Singleton had to say about a couple of bush babies.

"This one's a male and this one's a female," said Val.

Ian looked up and said: "Mum, when I grow up can I have a female as a pet?"

Ian's 40 now, single and still looking in the pet shop window.

MIRIAM Smith, who taught in schools in Durham, recalled the time another teacher had asked the kids to write about their families.

Back in the staff room, she was reading out some of the answers, including the one from a little boy who wrote: "My Mummy sleeps with Daddy - unless he's on night shift and then she sleeps with Uncle Tom."

Published: 12/08/2004