So I haven’t posted in a few days.  I’m afraid I’ll over do it and then I’ll get tired of it.  Man, today, I’m just tired in general.  Skipping exercise time because I think I’d collapse.  And instead, I’m posting.  About flapping things.

You Dirty Rat...I mean Duck!

Last weekend, we took the ducklings outside for a swim.  They had doubled in size since the weekend before.  Seems ducklings don’t stay little long.  They’ve doubled again this week.  Anyway, this was the first time they really decided to try diving.  And that was just too much fun!  They also learned how to raise up out of the water and flap their tiny little wings.  Won’t be long until we have feathers on those wings.

Strike a Pose

Donovan’s new obsession is to drive you nuts about taking his picture.  I’m afraid he thinks he’s always doing something cute.  Which he is.  but I don’t want a picture of every little thing.  Every time you’re outside, he wants his picture taken.  We tried to explain that we were getting pictures of the ducks this time.  Not of him being cute.  So he picked up the little frog statue that sits at the pond.  One of my kids last year gave it to me.  So then, you have to be, “Take his picture, Scott.  Please.  Before he drops it and breaks it. “  And as you can tell by the smile, he’s perfectly aware that he won.  But I got HIM!  I chose a picture where he’s blurry and the frog’s clear!  That’ll teach him.  Yeah…right…hhhmmm..

Anyway, the ducklings enjoyed their swim.  Donovan got his picture made and everyone’s happy.

KaPwack or George? That is the question.

Now that they can get out of the pond without any help, they seem much more content.  They get out, stand around for a few minutes, look at what a great job they did getting out, then get back in.  Kind of like watching kids at the pool in the summer, ya know?

In…out…back in again…then out..I’m hungry…I don’t wanna stay.  I don’t wanna go in.  Just a couple more minutes.  Hey, I was eating that leaf!  Well, maybe not that.  But my mom ate clay when she was a kid.  But that’s another story completely.

But splash time is good for the ducks and we enjoy watching them.  They’re tame enough you can hand feed them, which is great.  And I really think we’re doing the right thing getting more.

KFC - Hey, I didn't name him that!

Now, this face…THIS is one I sometimes wish I’d never seen.  He struts around my yard like he’s in charge.  Smarty pants rooster.  Fairly well behaved, I can’t complain too much most of the time.  I’ve gotten used to his crowing and don’t hear it most of the time. It’s the attitude I can’t stand.  Thinkin’ he’s all that.  He’s a big bag of feathers and some rubbery stuff on his head and cheeks.  But he seems to think that’s important.

What a Prima Donna

When he’s out, he spends most of his time, strutting around in front of the hens.  They really don’t pay much attention to him, though when they get scared they come racing for him.  “Oh, save me, save me.”  Not a problem.  When the big hawk flies down, who do you think he’s gonna eat first?  Yup.  You’ll  be history, dude.  And while you’re being carried away, the girls will go safely inside.

Seriously, I always want a rooster til I have one.  Then I’m trying to figure out why I wanted one.  The girls actually do something important.  All he does is walk around and look good.  And make my hens look like crap.  I told Scott I wouldn’t have another one.  He said, that’s good because this one could live 17 years.  I’m thinking roadkill.  Might take a little work since he doesn’t like to be out in the open.  But Donovan’s got his truck and his John Deere.  Maybe I can work some sort of accident up.  I can explain it to Scott.  Really I can.  It’ll just take some work to convince Mr. Attitude to stay in one spot long enough for a good impact.

Buffy

Now this one is my favorite.  We got Buffy from a friend of mine a couple of years ago.  She was small and not in the greatest of shape.  It took some care and attention to get her looking like the does now.  The others picked on her for a while, but not any more.  And she lays green eggs to make it even better!  We have a couple of “Easter Egger” chickens.  At first, it was fascinating, but not so much any more.  I really don’t care what color the eggs are.  Just that they’re laid with some regularity.  Which they do unless it’s gloomy. Or cold.  Or there’s a change in their diet.  Or if they’re molting.

Scratching for Creepy Crawlies

They’re sweet, though.  We had a picnic one day and some of the came to visit.  A red sex-linked decided she needed pretzels and when we weren’t doing what she said, she decided to serve herself.  Crazy birds.  They’re just too funny.

We lost one the other day.  One of the red sex-linked.  I tried to convince Scott that since I lost one, I needed two-three more.  He said no.  I let him win.  THEN he said he’d see about building an incubator so we could hatch our own.  So I think I won.  But he’s the one who’s been wanting to hatch eggs.  So he won.  Actually, the chickens won.  They always do.  Make sure they eat well so they lay well.  Spoiled little critters.

George and KaPwack Tasting the Sedum.

No, I’m not sure how to spell KaPwack, but that made sense to me at the time.  Yesterday, we gave them bathtub swim time.  Today, we took them out to the garden pond.  They’ll have their own pond when they get bigger, but for now, they have to share one with the frogs.  The frogs refused to come and make friends, but they tend to be unsocial most of the time anyway.  Unless you’re cleaning out the mess on the bottom and you catch them in your net.  Then, they stay very still and hope you don’t see them.

Swimming in the Pond

I guess the first question in somebody’s mind would be the question about how does one come up with the name KaPwack.  Well, years ago when my mom started teaching, she had a first grade class.  Every spring, they would have this Tea for the parents and the kids would get up and perform little poems and things.  There was this little boy in her class who couldn’t speak plainly and he was going to do a poem about a duck.  The best I can remember, it went, “Once I saw a downy duck with feathers on his back.  I said, “Good morning, downy duck!” and he said, “Quack, quack, quack.”  Except, because the little guy couldn’t talk plainly, it came out, “Kapwack.”  It’s been a joke around my house for years, so when we talked about getting ducks, I knew what one of them had to be.  Just don’t ask me to tell you which one is which.

Duck Watching

Anyway, it was fun letting them swim around.  Donovan thought it was just the greatest thing we’d done in a while.  Between that and having lunch outside with a chicken coming to visit and beg for pretzels, I don’t think his day could have been much better.  At least that’s what he told us.

The only problem we had with our duck watching was that Donovan was determined to sit on the big rock in the most precarious location.  One step the wrong way and  you’re in the pond.  Which didn’t seem to bother him until we reminded him how big the frogs are in the bottom pond.  Then he decided it might be better not to fall in.  Seriously, if I liked frog legs, I wouldn’t have to do anything but reach into the pond and pull out supper.

Sweet Little Fellas

The best part about the ducklings is that they seem to be rather “Follow the leader,” so if you have one, you’ve got them both.  In fact,  you can’t even get a picture with just one duckling.  At least part of the other one shows up.  Well, not all of the time.  There’s a picture or two with just one duck, but I think it’s George, who’s just a bit more sure of himself.  Or herself.  Apparently, we won’t be able to tell if these are male or female until they quack or lay eggs.  According to the resident duck expert, the males have a different sound than the females.  As if that’s a surprise to anyone.  I mean, isn’t it that way in most animals?  Except this time, the male has a more raspy voice.  Whatever that means when you’re talking about ducks.  I think I’ll just wait to see who lays eggs.

Get Your Tongue Back In Your Mouth, Little Duckling!

Scott says some people pierce their bills or do something to their feet to tell them apart.  I can’t do that.  Last thing I need is a duck running around here with a nose ring. I have trouble enough keeping the animals and kids under control without letting them express that much individuality.  Seriously.  Can you imagine what they’d want next?  They’d be wanting little red leather duck shoes (I can get them, by the way.  Isn’t that just bizarre?) and a red leather harness (You guessed it.  It’s available online.)  A punked out duck is just too much.  I mean, we’ve already got them sticking their tongues out at us.  Not sure they’re gonna be a good influence on the chickens.  That rooster already thinks he runs the place.

So the farm grows and changes.  A little at a time, but still change goes on.  I think it’s a good thing in the long run.  Just hoping no one says anything about goats again.  Not sure the dogs would understand sharing their room with a couple of goats.

We all got tired of waiting on ducklings to make their appearance, so yesterday, we went and picked up two.  Not sure what they are yet, since they were “Hatchery Choice.”  Just little yellow ducklings.  Scott’s had fun trying to figure them out.  I think they’re just little yellow ducklings and that’s good enough.

The best part has been watching Donovan.  You would have thought we brought home the entire cast of YoGabbaGabba.  He was so excited about picking out his ducklings.  When Zach called yesterday, he was determined to tell Zach about them.  And that was an interesting conversation after driving us nuts about it.  “Well, we have ducks.  Two of them.  And one’s named George.  Bye.”  Not exactly, but something like that.

The highlight of the day was letting them have a swim in the bathtub.  They really enjoyed the water time and it’s fantastic watching them follow each other.  One is definitely in charge and the other just goes right along behind.  We gave them some lettuce as a treat so they could eat while they swam.  They were happy little ducklings, playing with the lettuce and playing keep away.

My hope is that dealing with two will get us ready for the 10 who will be here in May.  I know we’re not keeping all of them, but for a while, it will be “Make Way for Ducklings” around here.  And that’s okay.  They’re very sweet and you can’t help but smile when you watch them.  My boys are happy.  That means alot.

I’m still amazed at how peaceful it all makes me feel when I deal with the chaos that is my life here at home.  I know I was born at the wrong time.  I would have been happy as a farm wife.  The more insanity that goes on around here, the more at home I feel.  And I know it seems insane, but I’ve given up worrying about it.  It’s home.  And my heart is always here.

Well….they were Cornish X.  Which isn’t bad, I suppose.  Except they’re meat birds.  You process them before they’re 6 months old.   All they do is sit around and eat themselves fatter and fatter.  They don’t even get up and do the typical cute chick things.  And these particular ones STUNK!  First time I’ve kicked them out of the house and into the garage.  Nasty birds.

The Cornish we had were a little younger than these.

Now, if we wanted meat birds, then that would be great.  But the kids?  They won’t hear of it.  So that’s not gonna happen.  And quite honestly, at our house, the cute factor plays a role in whether or not you stick around.  Nothing cute about Cornish.  Or smart.  Or fun.  Just sleep, eat, drink, poop, and do it all again.

I should have known when I went to get them.  I was pretty sure, but still went ahead and brought them home, just in case I was wrong.  I wasn’t.  So today, the friend who found them got them back.  Which is great!  Cuz the ducks will be here and I don’t want anybody getting in the way of the quacking and the waddling.

So no more baby chicks for us this year.  Maybe…unless I see some and I just can’t stop myself.  But I’d be in trouble.  Of course, it wouldn’t be the first time.  I mean, that’s how I started with rabbits.  And I do miss baby chicks.  I’m hoping the ducklings will fill the void.  But I gotta tell ya, that peeping is awfully sweet…

What is there about chickens that fascinates me?  The girls are perfect as far as I’m concerned.  Watching them in the yard is just too entertaining.  The ducks will be different, but I have a feeling we’ll be just as attached if not more so.  I’m hoping Scott will have them tame enough to really enjoy.  I can just see Donovan now, chasing ducks around the yard…falling in the dirty duck pond…hhmmm…wonder if we can still cancel that order.

Looked at the plan from last year and decided what would stay and what would go.  Some things I’m not doing again.  Nothing new I want to try.  Others I have too much of in the freezer and am taking a year’s break.  No cushaw this year, though I hate not to grow it.  Blessing is that if I decide I want some, the kid at the Farmer’s Market has it for a reasonable price every fall.

Cutting back a bit.  Not a whole lot, but some.  Different recipes to do this time around.  The tomato catchup recipe that we did as a trial is now a must have at my house.  Hot pepper jelly is on that list now, too.  We use it instead of things that are more processed.  For instance, I’ve stopped using mayo.  Hot pepper jelly has more flavor and I know what’s in it.

Buying more cattle panel to put the tomatoes and green beans on.  Makes life a lot easier when you don’t have to deal with those tomato stakes or bending down to pick green beans.  Looking at using panel for the sugar snap peas, too.  That is if I can keep the voles out of them.

Dread dealing with the voles this year.  Tunnels everywhere, which isn’t a good sign.  We’ll see how all of that plays out.

Our ducks will look like these.

We have ducks coming in April.  Scott’s wanted some for a long time, so we’ve ordered some.  Welsh Harlequins.  There’s a picture of them to the left .  Excited to see they’re coming.  Should be an interesting experience for all of us.

And then, a friend contacted us and said he knew someone with 28 chicks they didn’t want.  Not getting all of them, but I think we’re taking part.  So 10 ducklings plus 8 chicks.  This could be an interesting spring.

You know, it’s funny.  Christie was the dog we didn’t choose to live with us but came as a foster and just never left.  The mixed feelings I have about her going are confusing and a little uncomfortable at times.  We loved her.  How can you not love someone who is so devoted and needs to be loved so badly?  But it wasn’t like some of the other fosters we had in the  past.

Christie was so needy.  She’d been through so much in her life.  She was happy, but at the same time, there was an anxiousness about her.  She always seemed to be on the lookout, a little uncertain, worried, lost, never quite settled.  Here with us, she found a place where she could at least be comfortable.  There were some scrambles with the other dogs, but for the most part, life was peaceful.  We crated her as little as possible; and while there was a period when she felt more comfortable in a crate, the last 3 years, she was no longer attached to it.  A great thing for a dog who had been kept in one constantly at the mill. She loved to spread out in the floor and just lay there.  She liked a soft bed, though she had a tendency to chew on them.  Christie….was Christie.

Looking back over those last couple of weeks, I think there were some signs and we just mistook them for other things.  Suddenly, she wasn’t able to go all night without peeing in her crate.  She actually peed in the floor a couple of times.  The other dogs got on her nerves more.  She was more talkative than usual.  The shaking was a bit worse.  But with a dog like her, sometimes, you mistake things for just being who she is.

No matter what, Christie was happy.  That was always the case.  She was happy to be alive and happy to have a place to lie in the sun or in the shade.  To stand on the deck by the puppy door and survey her world.  Christie was just happy to be.

In our minds, I think, she was a permanent foster.  We took her when she had no place else to go.  We gave her another chance when all of her chances seemed to be used up.  We bought her time to see what the world should have been like.  And yesterday as we held her and watched her slip away, I think she loved us back.  She passed with people who loved her, held her, talked to her, who chose to be with her.  And in the end, I think for any of us, that’s what matters.  We should all be so lucky.

Today, I said good bye to my puppy, the one I drove 5 hours to pick up after she was rescued from a puppy mill with 5 other bassets.  At 10 years old, her body had reached the point where it was much too painful to go on.  My last foster, we kept her when no one else wanted her.  I love you, Christie Carol.  Miss you, sweetie…

Christie’s tribute page is listed under Pet Memories.

Added June 11, 2010 – Rather than editing this article, I would like to add this brief statement.  The rats that I thought were rats weren’t rats at all, but voles.  I didn’t even know what a vole was until now, though I’d heard of them.  They’re much cuter than rats, but very destructive.  If I change rats to voles, my letter of apology won’t mean as much to the rats.  Soooooo it stays.  But it wasn’t rats.  It was voles.  With a “v.’  Not an “m.”  They don’t look alike at all.  Moles and voles.  Or voles and rats. Or rats and moles.  Oh, well.  Enough rambling. Apologies again to the rats.  But not the voles.

I’m all in favor of live and let live.  Until it comes to weeds and rats and mice.  Can’t forget those mice.

With the rain coming in sporadic buckets rather than nice showers, the weeds are growing faster than I can keep up.  And trying to get them out of the sugar snap peas is ridiculous.  If I don’t find a better way to deal with those stupid things, I’m not growing them any more.  Seriously, I’m done with them.

And as for the rats… Ya know, I like rodents.  Always have. Even the mice in the basement?  I hate having to kill them.  But they don’t seem to learn that my stuff isn’t their stuff.  And then, there are the rats.

When we first saw a rat outside back in the winter, Stormy had it hanging out of her mouth.  Later, there was one sitting out at the pile of junk we keep building on as we work around here.  I said something about getting rid of them; and Scott being Scott, the lover of all creatures, sort of cringed and said okay.

But nothing happened.  Then, they ate my peas before they could germinate and my strawberries before we could pick them and that meant war.  And BIG BIG traps.  And 3 dead rats. All was quiet for a while.

Until this week.  My potatoes started coming in.  The rats?  They like potatoes.  ALOT. So they ate them.  This time the little monsters were braver.  They’d sit and LOOK at me while they ate my potatoes.  Hey, anybody who’s watched Ratatouille knows rats eat everything and anything.  Only these didn’t seem willing to share their cooking secrets, just chew up half of a perfectly good potato.  Never eat the whole thing, mind you.  Just half so you knew they’d been to visit.  Somehow, that doesn’t seem very efficient.  I mean, wouldn’t you just eat the whole thing?  But, raw potatoes?  You’re really not supposed to eat those anyway.  Doesn’t seem to bother the rats, though.  War started again.  4 more dead rats.  And a mouse.  Casualty of war.  But then again….

While moving things around for the new summer harvest setup, I discovered a mouse in one of my bushel baskets. I picked up a stack of baskets and he was in the bottom one.  How could I see him in the bottom one if it was a stack?  Because he’d chewed through the other two baskets! So off to Tractor Supply for new baskets.  Grumbling, muttering, thinking bad things about Fievel, Stuart Little, and every other mouse I’ve ever heard of.

So that’s been my week.  The bright spots?  Chickens love the weeds and grass I pull and take to them.  Makes them happy.  Rats are about gone for now.  Veggies are starting to come in.  And the mice?  They’ve moved back into the basement.  Not such a bright spot for me, but they seem to be happy about it.

Well…you can’t win every battle.

To say Donovan loves the new chicks would be an understatement.  He’s spent most of his time sitting with them since they came home.  Got some really cute pictures of him holding them over the weekend.

Tomorrow, picking up a buff orpington rooster chick.  Gonna try one more time.

Today on his way home from dropping off the rooster and picking up a new garden tractor, he stopped at Orscheln’s and picked up new chicks – 4 australorps and 2 buff orpingtons.  Donovan is fascinated by them.  He spent all afternoon and on into the evening watching them.  He even took pictures of them.  While I still regret having to get rid of Roody, the chicks are certainly a welcome sight.  The sweet peeping is precious and I know this is a spring ritual I’ll enjoy for years to come.