Ducks

We live in a rural, farmette row. I wouldn’t call it a community, it’s just a row of 7-10 houses on what used to be a farm field. When we first moved in the kids and I went knocking on doors to introduce ourselves to the neighbors. One family answered. We could see the others sitting there but they are either not interested in meeting the neighbors or too lazy to haul their butts up and answer the door. There’s an off chance they thought we were Mormons or something but it was me and 4 kids. I dunno. It was definitely a case that would/will hold true during our residence here in the county. We are not redneck enough to fit in…but this post is supposed to be about ducks.

The owners of the flock of baby ducks moved in after we’d been here a few years and they are nice folks. Their ducks? They are a bit of a pain. They come every day and eat every bite of our dog’s food. The dogs? They’re hungry and probably pissed off, so what do they do? They kill one of our ducks. Travis had to shoot him with the .22, I won’t describe the reasons why. I’m glad my son is that brave because I’m not. I’m way too wimpy and awful and would have let the poor duck suffer.
Honestly? We have done the stupid and unthinkable–we fed the ducks who come here daily from the neighbor’s farm. We fed them because we feed our ducks and the other ducks came for breakfast, too. We fed them ONE TIME. Plus, the ducklings were cute. They aren’t cute any more. They’re big and turning into Muscovies, not known for cuteness. The upside is that they eat bugs but I can totally see our dogs reducing their numbers pretty quickly if they don’t learn to stay home.
R.I.P. Hershey. We loved you and you will be missed.
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About Blue Eagle Dreamer

Shamanic High Priestess and facilitator of empowerment and healing circles for girls and women, including a monthly Red Tent Temple. BA in English, minor in anthropology. Waldorf homeschool mom. Reiki master, cranial sacral therapist, herbalist, menstruvist, feminist, epicurian.
This entry was posted in health and well-being, herding dogs, Martina, rural life. Bookmark the permalink.

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