Day old ducks are cute.
They spent their first 6 weeks in relative obscurity in the chichen run, captured by a sun drying screen propped against the chicken keep wall, keeping them and their special food from the grabbing ckickens. I visited once or twice a day. Water change and food top up.
Week 6, solid birds, big beaks, varacious appetites.
The palacial duck palace finished, they moved.
A home of round wood construction, pine plank flooring, watertight iron roof, an impressive split level ramp good for small gauge wheel chair access. A stream of water from the the laid played melodies on the flow form as it replenished the pond that dominated their environs. No better in duckism was seen.
Week 9.
Big birds, big beaks, varacious appetites, big shitters.
Just 6 of them convinced me with their never ending quacking and the two rivers just a lob away that they should range free, free as a bird, free as a duck. Off they went. For a week it was as shephard and flock, a handfull of grain and they came, with a terminator like destructon through the veg garden. Chickens peck, Ducks muller, no way back for a cabbage.
Week 10
My shepharding abilities seemed demeaned, a handful of grain or two? who you kidding. 3.30 pm I saw them last, happily mullering another raised bed then no more.
Downriver they went never to be seen again.
Its a real hungry gap this year.
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