Ducks Departure Day

My favourite ducks are moving out today, always supposing I can catch them when their new owners arrive. I didn't mention I had ducks in my first blog, that's because there's so much to say and I can't say it all at once because you'd get more than fed up.

Anyway, two lovely ducks are going. They are fawn and white Indian runners, not show quality, but pretty wonderful all the same. These two are fairly tame and have the run-and-swim of the hen garden and the pond, unlike another three which I keep in a pen. These two had a chequered start. Their mother tried to hatch them but most of her eggs were crushed by the rest of the duck herd trampling frantically through her nest whenever anything upset them, and almost everything upset them. I rescued one cracked egg, painted over the crack with nail varnish and hurried it to the incubator where it thrived and hatched. The other duckling hatched under its mum, but was left outside alone, by the herd, one drenching freezing spring day, and I feared for its life, so brought it into the incubator to accompany its brother, or sister. I couldn't tell the sex until the female was old enough to quack, drakes make a kind of hissy gasp, and they turned out to be one of each.

This is what they looked like as youngsters, self-seasoning themselves in the catmint. In no time at all they were out and about enjoying the garden. Unfortunately the older hatches, and their parents, seemed to find this pair threatening, and began bullying them. As a result, I've parted with nine ducks already and have only have these two and, as mentioned, three in a pen. The three can come out into the luxury of the garden any minute now, when there are no longer the two younger siblings to throw about by the neck or try and mate with, depending on sex. 

This is what they look like now, him on the right, her on the left. And just to mention, once I had the loveliest pond. Water lilies, flowering rushes and king-cups, oxygenating weed, fish, frogs, newts. The 'after-duck' pond is green, occasionally black muck bubbles up from the depths, all the pond-side plants have been munched away leaving ugly pond-liner exposed. I saw a duck eat a frog, the fish floated belly-up and were also eaten. Duck poo poisoned the water. Not even duck-week survived.

If you look at this picture very carefully, you can just see the duck herd starting manoeuvres across the garden. See their brown tops and white pants. This was in the early days when I still had a few iris plants in the pond.

the reason I'm getting rid of all these ducks is because I'm soon getting new ones, a trio, male and two females, of Apricot runner ducks. Doesn't that sound lovely. Apricot, to match Bert, my dreadful dog.He looks like Champagne Bertie in this picture, but really he's an Apricot Bert.

Looking like butter wouldn't melt. Well it would! Two hens have bald bottoms, like his tennis ball, because of him. More of that another time.
















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I took to hens like a duck takes to a rain barrel. I'm no expert, I'm not even a gifted amateur, I'm more of an enthusiastic experimenter. For three years I've been trying to keep the hens and still have a pretty garden. The hens kept winning. For a start, they ate all my young forget-me-not plants and grazed the primroses down to lumps. Strangely, when the hens moved on, the plants came back better than ever. Hen poo? I think so.  

I tried hen runs on the back lawn, but the hens made the lawn go bald. I tried a little row of charming hen houses in the front garden, but the hens overflowed them. I tried a long pen down the side of my garden, but they got among the veg and ate all my young broccoli. But when, having cleared the front garden of everything they fancied they turned to my pots of beautiful geraniums, stripping away all the flowers and leaves, I knew I needed a strategy.

Now, we have a truce. They have the back garden and I have the front garden. The back garden gets more sun, that's where the patio is. The hens appreciate these features. When they want me they peck at the french windows and I scuttle out to see what they need. Yes, you see, we have reached a sensible arrangement.

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