The fear that somewhere, somehow, a duck is watching you. (with apologies to Gary Larson)
While in my back garden, a duck watched me build a wall, and when I had finished and I was putting things away for the night it waddled up to me, and stared. It seemed unfazed by our relative sizes. I went inside and came back out with some wet bread. It took the torn off pieces from my hand.
She returned the following morning with two friends, and periodically afterwards. My resident pheasants don't know what to do about it when they barge them out of the way and eat the bird seed I put down.
And they watch me through my window. Silently watching, and waiting. Waiting for their moment.