A tragedy of ducks

I once bought some ducklings at a feed store because I'd heard that ate flies. They were little yellow fluffy things who liked to "bob" in the wading pool. SO, we named them "Bob" -- both of them and waited for them to grow up and banish the flies from my barn.

But as the Bobs grew, we determined three things: both Bobs were girls; they were not the fly-eating breed of duck (one was a Pekin, one was a runner), and the two ducks eggs they laid daily gave Annie horrific, wake-you-up-in-the-middle-of-the-night flatulence. Annie was a wonderful dog who would never dream of doing anything wrong, but she couldn't resist the daily Easter egg hunt.


Although neither Bob showed the slightest interest in catching flies, they turned out to be incredible snail hunters. It's been probably two years since their lives were tragically ended by a coyote in the middle of the night, and our snail population still has not recovered from the impact.

This past summer, I tried again. This time I got the correct breed of duck -- Muscovy. Unfortunately, they aren't showing much interest in eating the flies either. But to be honest, why would they when they have access to goat feeders full of grain. As Duk-Duk and Goose grew, it was obvious it was obvious they were of opposite sexes, but why wouldn't Mother Nature discourage them from sitting on a nest in December?

January 1, 2010, I found Duk-Duk and seven ducklings down in the barnyard. I really hadn't planned on a bunch of baby ducks and decided to let "Nature take its course." That lasted til I read on the Internet that ducklings were very susceptible to cold weather, so down DH and I trudged to catch Duk-Duk and her brood. We put all eight in a pen close to the house used as a goatie maternity ward. Food, water, and a heat lamp.

Day 2 - while at work, I receive a call that all the babies have escaped and a couple have fallen in the swimming pool. That necessitates a rescue operation with pool nets, warm towels, a box, and more lamps. All seven survive the ordeal.

Day 3 - an apparent water dish suicide for one duckling.

Day 4 - Duk-Duk and remaining six escape. I give up, as I am tired of being chased and hissed at by Duk-Duk during my heroic duck-saving efforts, and place food and water near the goat pens.

Day 5 - Two more have fallen. One is found dead -- exposure? and one is nearly dead; we are unable to resucitate.

Day 6 - The Fabulous Four remain.

Day 7 - Another baby is down in the morning. I wrap it in warm towels to revive it and place it in a muck bucket in the bathroom with lamps. By evening, the duckling seemed to perk up a bit. I didn't want her to be alone, so I caught one of the remaining three and placed it in the muck bucket as well. Within an hour or so, the baby was dead, and I had to tramp down in the dark to return the cheeping baby to its mom.

Day 9 - another one bites the dust...

It's now January 15, and two babies survive -- two out of SEVEN! Mother Nature? What gives?