I'm sorry my darlings, to wax again on the feathered side of things. But I have another story to tell you. Don't hate me. I'll make it short as possible. But it will be a bit long.
Ahem (clearing throat.)
As most of you know, about 4 months ago I insisted on building a duck coop and getting some ducks. I wanted duck eggs. We built another coop. We got ducks. Did not know the sex of these ducks because they don't sex ducks at the hatchery like they do chickens. I assumed they were all female. Why? Becuase I am stupid. Or because I'm a passionately upbeat person. However you want to look at it.
The Brad had always had a thing for white farm ducks. So we got two Pekins. Then a little black Cayuga (cause 3 is always better than two. This was my thinking. Don't ask why.) I did no research on the size of duck, frequency of egg laying, breed behaviors, etc.. I am a beginning farmer. And it shows.
Fast forward about four months. And you know, dear people, that I live on a 1/4 acre. And you also know that I have stretched this "farm" idea to it's max. Right? Well, it boiled over.
It came to our, sort-of unconscious/conscious attention that both Pekins were males and they were quite large and dominating and shedding white feathers all over the yard. Hundreds of feathers. All over the yard. They pooped large poops. All over the yard. They were loud, insensitive (and did I say dominating?) to not only the female duck but also the chickens and the humans. They acted as if we were living on their land and that at any moment we could be put out on the street. We had previously named the ducks all female names. When the Pekins ended up male, we were so non-enthused, we named them both Donald.
The Donalds began to, shall I say, impose their "manly ways" on the Cayuga female, in their kiddie pool, both at the same time. Need I say more? The Donalds reminded me of two very large college football players. The kind who get drunk a lot and perhaps take steroids and say things like: I'm totally, like, gonna to kick your a** , dude. In fact, my neighbor had a female duck drown to two drakes acting in this same way. So, clearly, we needed to deal with this issue. And quick. A dead duck is not on my list for "happy farm."
Ok. So. I was mildly stressed. The next days were filled with me trying to re-home one or both of the Donalds with no luck. On the advice of a friend, I tried a local group on Facebook that was entitled "Unconditional Give and Take." Within an hour, a sweet woman with the word "Sunshine" in her name said she and her partner would take them for their farm.
Meanwhile, and this is the crazy part, I was on the lookout for MORE ducks. Females. Well, I couldn't just have 1 female left! I needed to have a flock! Duck eggs! I'm not a giver-upper! And ducks are not loners, you know. You can not keep just one duck. They will die of sadness! And there is nothing worse than a sad duck.
As luck would have it, I found someone in town who was getting rid of two females. A good breed called Khaki Cambells. Small, brown, very good layers, good-natured, mellow. The kind I should have gotten in the first place. Off I drove to get the new females.
I told The Brad nothing about the new ducks. I just came home with them in a large box at dinnertime. Problem was, Sunshine wasn't calling me to pick up The Donalds. And here I was in our yard with now 5 ducks. On the advice of the previous owner of new Khaki's, I set the females loose in the yard with the others. Brad came out with his mouth gaping open. But there was no time to ask questions. The dominant Donald was attacking one of the new females.
I think it's normal. I said, very nervously.
Well, it may be normal. But it's sure not PRETTY. He almost killed her, it seemed. (If you are ever unsure to what the word "violence" means, just follow my lead with ducks.) We got dominant Donald back in the coop, and then the other Donald went after the newbies. We put him in the coop. Then the Cayuga female went after them! We put her in the coop! Bad lady!
We all came inside then, leaving the poor new ducks wandering the yard with what seemed like a severe psychotic tic. They both were jerking their heads to one side repeatedly. I figured I traumatized them beyond repair with my excellent understanding of how to properly introduce waterfowl to eachother. This made me feel like a real winner.
Sunshine was not calling to pick up the Donalds and dinner was on the table, cold. I sat down and began to sob: It's all my fault. I should have never tried to have a farm here. It's never going to work. Let's get rid of everything. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.
We had no place to put the new ducks, you see, unless Sunshine showed up and took the others. They would be certianly be killed by racoons if left unsheltered.
I decided to pyhsically look at my phone even though I hadn't heard it ring and sure enough Sunshine had called! (My ringer had been off. I'm such a bright person.) She and her partner were on their way.
They came in the gate like beams of light. Gentle. He had dreadlocks and she was in loose colorful clothing. She hugged me- the nerotic mess of a woman that I was. Clearly, I needed all the help I could get. I asked them to take all three of the ducks I'd had previously had and just leave me with the two new females. And they did, quietly and suprisingly easily. I told them they needed to invest in more ducks to offset the Donalds primitive advances on the lone female. Sure, they nodded, as they smiled calmly. Plenty of room on our farm.
And that was that. No muss, no fuss. They boxed up the ducks and airily swooshed out of the yard, into their truck, and drove off.
And suddenly, it was quiet on our little farm.
And it still is. The new gals have settled in and we get duck eggs every morning now. It's so peaceful outside. We are not afriad of entering our own yard for fear of being aggressed upon by large birds. And that is always a good thing, you know. It seems I've learned another lesson in the unrelenting education of farming. A moral, perhaps? Do not try to make a big farm on a small farm. The Donalds were not too big for our farm, rather, our farm was too small for the Donalds.
I would like to take a small break now from my farm education, though, if I may. I would like to sit back and enjoy all that I now have learned, with my female chickens and ducks, in a yard that does not look like an exploded featherbed.
And that, I will.
not a typical weekend story, but still linking with Amanda at weekending.
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