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Ducks!

I have some very exciting news: we have broken our Duck Fast here at Old Depot Farm, after many years of my stout refusal to replenish our flock of ducks. It’s kind of a long story, but I’ll give you the skinny on it (school starts in our kitchen in precisely 30 minutes, with a full day to follow) just because I love you Gentle Readers and I’ve got some sweet photos of our new ducks to share.

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Special Delivery: Ducks! | Farm Raised With P. Allen Smith

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Our Ducks

“I have some orphan Mallard ducklings,” my friend the vet said. “They need a home.” He had found nine duck eggs floating in a marsh. With faint hope that there might be life in them, he put the eggs in an incubator. To his surprise, eight of the eggs hatched.

Did we want baby ducks? You betcha! We adopted four, despite the fact that local ordinances forbade keeping any kind of poultry in our yard. Instructed by the vet about care and feeding, I brought home a box loaded with cuteness. We put yellow and brown-striped ducklings in the basement, lining their box with old towels. We suspended a work light over them, close enough for warmth but far enough away so they wouldn’t get singed. A shallow bowl of water and some starter feed completed the setup.

The ducklings, a little shaky on their pins, made wren-like cheeps as they huddled together. Within days they gained strength and we let the kids hold them. Eventually we let the ducklings join the kids at bath time—a lovely sight to behold until a ducky indiscretion meant a change of bathwater.

The ducklings grew quickly and moved to an outdoor pen. For some reason, they imprinted on me. I was Mother Duck, quite an honor I thought. Every day after work, I’d lead a gabbling little line of ducklings on a happy march around our house. And they were smart. Rebecca said that long before I’d pull in the drive they’d sense Mother Duck’s arrival and chatter in anticipation.

We thoroughly enjoyed their antics and felt they were very much part of the family. However, I began to wonder: Wouldn’t they one day attempt flight and be gone? And, just incidentally, was keeping wild ducks strictly legal? (“But judge, a vet said it was okay!”)

With time their black beaks grew long and spoon shaped. Their eyes took on a determined look. They began to get demanding. Every morning at about 5:30 they’d set up a clamor for their ration of duck food. Conscious of the neighbors, I’d quickly haul out of bed and top up their feed.

Eventually they discovered the dried cat food left on the back porch for our cats. They loved it and chased away our poor felines if they came too near. To lure the ducks back into their pen, I added some cat food to their feed.

The next morning, they set up their usual fuss. I got up and trudged across the cold, dewy grass to their pen. I gave the ducks their feed and headed back to bed. I was barely under the covers before they set up another ruckus. What was going on? I dashed out, only to find the duck food ignored. In fact, they were stepping in their feed bowl, pushing against the fence in an effort to get to the back porch. They wanted cat food.

That was it. The ducks were getting too bright and boisterous for their own good, not to mention covering much of the yard with their sloppy manure. We briefed the kids that it was time for them to be released. We would make a free-will donation to the lagoon at a nearby university. I cobbled together a transport cage. The next morning being a Sunday, we left early, dressed for church, the back of our station wagon loaded with ducks.

I pulled into parking lot next to the lagoon and released the ducks, thinking they’d head right for the water. They were having none of it. Instead they ran deep into the parking lot. Much to my family’s amusement they gave me a run for my money. It took some doing to catch one. They always stuck together, a gang of four, so they followed as I carried the captive to the lagoon—holding it well in front of me to avoid getting my tie soiled.

With a few words of farewell, I tossed the duck into the water. The other three plunged in after it. Then trouble loomed in the morning fog. I looked up to see an enormous flotilla of birds swimming towards us. The mayhem in the parking lot seemed to attract every waterfowl in the vicinity. This gave me pause. Just what are the social patterns of waterfowl? Do they welcome strangers? Or do they tear them apart?

Making nervous little quacks, our ducks swam tentatively toward the group. Then something magical happened. The group slid past the four until they were fully encompassed. One of our ducks leapt up, flapping its wings in excitement. Then, as if on cue, the entire flotilla reversed itself. They peacefully bore our ducks away, disappearing into the mist. Our ducks were accepted.

#Ducks #Baby ducks #Keeping ducks #Rescuing wild ducks #Mallard ducks #Duck adventures