I open the door to let in the dog, and Phileep, the duck charges after her, right into the mudroom, up a small flight of stairs and into the kitchen under the table, where the cat is resting unsuspectingly on a chair. He (the cat) growls a low, meanacing protest.
Quack, quack quack quaaack QUAACKKK.
I see a glimmer of "perhaps this wasn't the best idea after all" begin to dawn in Phileep's eyes, as he realizes he has never been in this house before, he doesn't know this cat and what it might do, and "oh my goodness, what have I gotten myself into?"
The dog quickly forgotten, he made a decision to abort. Waddling as fast as his fwap-fwap-feet-smacking steps could take him – he actually fell down the steps in his haste to get back outside where he could see the sky and the world makes sense to a duck. Besides, that's where his woman lives – outside where the grass is tender and there are no stairs.
Moral of the story: Decisions made based on hormones, teritoriality, or defensiveness usually do not turn out like you think they will. You often lose, and feel humiliated in the process.