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No Guests – Kind of…
24 July 2009
After the Frenchies left and then Vicky we suddenly had our house back to ourselves.
“I can’t face any more guests until we get back from our weekend in Melbourne” I said to Aaron
He didn’t feel the same. It has been such a relief for Aaron to not to have to race home each day to do the feed out and prepare more pig meals. It was great having the house back but we also had all those daily chores to do again.
I felt shattered though, not to mention nervous about who we might next encounter.
Early last week I emailed Jay and Bex, telling them that we’d had our first stressful exchange and how it had confirmed for me just how wonderful they both were. They didn’t reply.
Thursday evening after work I went shopping and bumped into Tom and Prune twice. I made polite conversation.
When I got home there was a white van parked in the drive. I let myself in the front door and was instantly hit by the wonderful smell of dinner.
Jay and Bex had turned up on the doorstep earlier in the afternoon with bags of shopping. Aaron let them in and they set about whipping up a fantastic meal of roast beef and veges, followed by chocolate mudcake.
They’d got my email, checked out with their Auckland hosts a couple of days later and come back up to Kaiwaka to cheer us up.
It worked!
We asked them to stay and they ummed and ahhed and then stayed until Monday.
I Get a Break
The timing couldn’t have been more perfect. With Jay and Bex at home to help Aaron I shot off to Auckland for a night with Jo and family.
Jo had invited dad and Bron around for the evening and dad had offered to cook dinner.
Dad arrived and kissed me on the cheek. I swear I would have cried if I hadn’t been so shocked. I don’t remember dad ever doing that before. In fact I can’t remember when my parents were last this happy and so full of the joys of life. Who knew divorce could be such a positive affair?
I haven’t seen Blake in ages and he’s learning to walk now. Jo and Phil are of course full of that first-child awe, where every step, word, and intentional action fills them with pride and wonderment. Every parent is the same of course “Did you see that? Did you see how clever he is? Can you believe how quickly he’s learning?”
And I sit there and smile and say nothing because I’m thinking to myself “That’s nothing! Did you know sheep and pigs can walk within minutes of being born? Did you know a pig is house-trained the day it’s born? Did you know…” And I say nothing because I’m acutely aware, and just a little embarrassed that I’ve said it all before, and in that same tone of awe. I’ve been there, done that and now many animals later I’m an experienced parent.
Of course I know my experience with human babies is minimal but somehow many of my experiences and emotions with my animal babies have mirrored much of what Jo is going through. Jo and I share parenting experiences and it’s bizarre how often we can relate to the other’s experience.
Both mum and dad visited Jo’s separately on the weekend and it was wonderful to see how Blake’s face absolutely lit up at the sight of them. Both of them take delight in their grandson and Blake takes delight in them. And I felt just a little jealous, as neither parent has bonded with my children. When mum comes for a visit and I ask her to say hello to the grandkids, she protests loudly that they are nothing of the sort and looks at Whisky and Coppa with a certain amount of disgust. Mum is not a dog person but my boys sure are people dogs and they adore mum as much as she dislikes them.
I’d also like my parents to see just how lovely my pigs are but they just see pigs. Each of them has a very distinct personality. How could anyone not want to say hello to them and give them a great big hug? Hell, even a scratch behind the ears. Pigs, like dogs are so responsive to human affection and inter-reaction. And they love to talk. Oh my god, sometimes Arthur just talks non-stop. He has so much to say and he wants you to listen.
But alas, my children will never be doted over as Blake is. But I am not terribly offended as I know I am as uninterested in human children as my family is in animals.
My family may not be perfect but I do have one thing to be happy about. With mum’s maiden name being Bacon that means there has to have been a pig farmer way back in my family’s history. I like to think that somewhere, many years ago, there was a farmer in my family who also shared my love and admiration for pigs.
More Sheep Troubles
Monday afternoon I checked on the sheep to make sure all was okay with the lambs. Tulip was holding her foot high in the air, refusing to use it. Something was clearly wrong. I instantly got a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. Tulip’s lamb was only a few days old and what we had was a mother with a potential broken leg.
Tulip is only 6 months from the pot and the last thing we need is a sheep in a cast and a whopping great vet bill.
Aaron came home and I told him to check on her. He agreed it looked bad.
I arranged with work to take the Wednesday off so that Aaron and I would both be home. I rang the vet and arranged an afternoon appointment and Aaron rang the butcher and arranged a late morning appointment.
Wednesday morning we herded the sheep onto the driveway area by the shed and then into the stock yards. It was all going really well until the sheep pushed against the gate that I hadn’t thought to lock and they shot out onto the drive again. Then they wouldn’t go back in. Instead they ran around and around Aaron’s ute with me in hot pursuit. To say Aaron was annoyed is probably an understatement. I guess we 
wasted a good 10 or 15 minutes before we finally had them in again. Then we had to get Herb, Thyme and Thyme's lambs out. Aaron got ready to open the gate, leaving me to somehow separate Herb from the flock. I grabbed a piece of plywood to try use both as a visual wall and for protection. What can I say? being in close quarters with Herb and those huge horns is pretty bloody scary.
After running around in circles for several minutes Aaron got fed up. We swapped and he lunged several times for Herbs horns, eventually grabbing hold of one and slowly but surely dragged a bucking Herb to the gate. I opened it, Herb ran through. There was no way in hell I would have been strong enough to do that myself.
Aaron then eventually managed to grab Tulip and held her legs up. It was obvious what her problem was straight away. Her hooves were overgrown. I clipped them bit by bit as she stared at me and did some kind of weird sheep hyperventilation thing and kept struggling. It didn’t help that her lamb cried and cried and cried. I also struggled to cut the hoof as they’re very thick and rubbery. Eventually it was done though and Tulip and lamb shot through the gate. Tulip even managed to use her leg as she ran, which was something of a relief.
We did the same to Thyme next and she seemed to cope a lot better.
We had just Hazel and Thyme’s 6-month old ram left. We left the yards, cancelled the vet visit and waited for Barry to turn up.
Barry turned up about an hour later. We said hello and then went up to the house. I put the dogs away and went inside. I let myself cry for just a minute and then wiped away the tears. My grief for our animals is getting shorter these days but I like to think it will never completely disappear. I don’t ever want to become so hardened to death that I stop caring.
Aaron was standing on the verandah looking down the hill and then he disappeared.
It turns out Barry had been unable to catch and hold Hazel so Aaron went down to help. Within minutes it was all over and the 2 sheep were in the back of Barry’s vehicle. Aaron admits that watching the death spasms of an animal is hard. I could never watch it and be comfortable. Part of the brain is always convinced that the animal is suffering.
Our Neighbour Returns
Gary had flown back into Auckland on the Tuesday and was due back in Kaiwaka Wednesday afternoon. Twice a year he comes back for 2 weeks holiday. Not that it’s much of a holiday. He spends most of the time running around trying to keep up with property maintenance before flying off back to Aussie.
Aaron had pulled a large pork roast (our first home grown pork) out of the freezer Wednesday morning. I love how he does that to me. As soon as we have not oft seen guests he decides we’re going to have a roast. The amount of times I’ve ever cooked a roast, that isn’t chicken, can probably be counted on the one hand, and all those times have been on our block.
Roast pork was a completely new experience for me and on top of that I had to get the crackling right as well.
I grumbled to Aaron about his ability to put me on the spot like that. He brushed it off as a non-issue. I don’t know whether it’s because he has faith in me that I’ll get it right or just that he thinks cooking is a complete breeze. It’s only meat right?
I got out the River Cottage meat bible and reread parts of the Roast chapter. Lucky me, the skin was already scored beautifully. It was however a little disconcerting to see 3 or 4 short black hairs on part of the skin but I quickly pushed that to the back of my mind. I rubbed in plenty of olive oil and rock salt and shoved it in the oven.
Gary turned up late afternoon with his duty-free bourbon.
We caught up on this and that and of course we talked up the new neighbour. Gary had met Kevin that morning and seemed quite nervous about him. It appeared to all of us that Kevin was probably an ex bikie, and Gary obviously has visions of bikie reunions and illegal dealings going on. He asked us how we felt and we were honest. We thought he was a little rough around the edges but he seems pretty harmless enough. Having said that, we think it’s unlikely we’ll ever become great friends. We’ll say hello when we meet but probably not much more than that.
Gary said he’d told Kevin to keep off his land. I think he probably tried to say it tactfully and I can only hope it came across that way. Not my problem though. As I said to Gary, had Kevin moved in with a snarling rottweiler I might have been having issues with him but he moved in with a goat and some chickens and so at this stage I’m not too worried.
Eventually the pork came out of the oven and I was gobsmacked that it was cooked to absolute perfection. I swear this was the first time I had ever eaten real, unadulterated pork and it far exceeded any expectations I had.
I cannot believe how fantastically sweet and juicy our home grown pork is. It is nothing like supermarket pork. The colour, the flavour and oh my God the crackling! I cannot express how wonderful it feels, knowing that all those hours chopping fruit and veg, feeding out at 4am and massaging and cuddling all those cute little piggies has really paid off.
The whole meal I sat there transfixed in my own little world just wanting to express my surprise.
“Do you realize how good this is?! Can you taste how sweet this is? Did you have any idea pork could taste this good??!” but we had company, and while Gary enjoyed the meal, my exclamations would have been wasted on him.
When he’d raised the subject of our pig farming earlier in the evening, we had initially tried to explain our philosophy and beliefs. It was quickly apparent though that he could not grasp the concept of ethically raised, happy meat and so I gave up. Aaron wanted Gary to understand though and so he persisted until he too realized the effort was futile.
Gary’s a nice bloke but he’s also a simple bloke with simple wants and needs in life. Several times as we talked I became aware he completely lost track of some of the things we were talking about. Aaron is far better at conversing with people than I am and I have to be completely honest and say that I struggle to have a conversation with anyone who is on a different intellectual level than me. But,as it was, Gary seemed to also recognize this as a problem and after dinner politely thanked us and made his excuses and left.
I know he wonders why it was we did not get on with Murray and Patty but again I think it probably comes down to intellect. Our views on life and our knowledge are vastly different. Having an intelligent conversation with someone who cannot grasp what you’re saying is not conducive to easy-flow conversation. That’s not to say Gary’s a bad bloke. He’s not. He’s just too different.
The strangest part of the evening was that on more than one occasion he tried to convince us we’d be great parents. “You need to start having kids” he said. I decided not to tell him that my child-bearing years are now over.
He extolled the virtues of having kids, made even more special for him now he’s a granddad, and how rewarding it is. Yeah, blah-blah, I’ve heard it all before. And then he told us he’d only ever been a part-time dad. I decided not to point out why parenting was so enjoyable for him. He’s happy so there’s no reason to rain on his parade.
I don’t know what it is in me but there’s a self-righteous little bitch hiding there that sometimes just wants to tell people how it is. I don’t of course. Instead I just look around me and find myself thinking “Oh my god this world is full of stupid people. How is it the human race has actually progressed this far?”
The Ducks Explore the World
Talk about fantastic free-rangers. Our Indian Runner ducks, having cleared their paddock of all manner of tasty bugs, discovered a gap in the fence a few weeks back and haven’t looked back since.
Three or four times a day our ducks hop through the fence one by one and waddle on up the hill to where Frank’s old chicken coop is. From there they survey Stanley’s paddock and the DoC land and slowly waddle their way down the hill to either location, greedily scooping bugs as they go.
All the time they talk. Quack quack-quack quack. The first few times I spotted them on the wrong side of the fence was while I was down by the shed.
“Oi! What are you lot doing?!” The ducks would suddenly stop, stand up, looking guilty as hell and then quick smart, turn and briskly walk single-file up and over the hill and straight back into their paddock.
Of course, now that I know that this is their daily routine and that they will always go back home I have stopped yelling at them. Now they just carry on doing whatever they’re doing except if they see me on the drive. Then they will suddenly go very quiet and usually duck down or walk a little way to a spot where they are out of view.
Of course there is one downside to all this free ranging – egg collecting. The eggs can now be found in any one of 4 paddocks. Not only that but they have also become very cunning in their egg laying. They now set up communal egg laying nests, which are incredibly hard to find as they like to create them under clumps of grass, brush or fern, or their favourite, in the middle of blackberry bushes. As soon as I discover one nest they create another and it can take me days to find it. At the same time they will lay eggs randomly in some obvious, open spot and I am almost sure this is to throw us of the scent. Invariably I’ll pick up the egg and think “Woohoo an egg” and after 5 or 10 minutes of laborious searching will give up and relish the prize of one egg.
All the time there’s a little voice playing in the back of mind “They’re taking you for a fool. Don’t give in to their games” but I do of course and invariably the ducks have their little victory.
I do try to reason with them. “C’mon guys. Fair’s fair. I give you dinner, you give me eggs. That’s all I’m asking. I just want your eggs. You don’t want them and I do. It’s a fair trade…blah blah blah” and they listen as they quickly suck up dinner and then look at me, turning their heads from side to side. And then if I talk for too long they’ll suddenly turn on mass and quickly walk single file to the back fence where they huddle in a group and watch me intently.
And I can’t help but wonder if they’re plotting something over there by the back fence.
“Ladies, ladies, gather round. I think she’s onto us. Have you noticed how she keeps talking? Yeah, well I think we better lay a few more decoy eggs tomorrow, just to throw her off. Jean, Jennifer, you’re on decoy egg duty tomorrow. A couple around the pond somewhere would be great. Out in the open, really obvious, you know the drill. Actually, now that I think about it, Harriet, you couldn’t manage to lay us a third could you darling? Lay it in one of the old abandoned nests near the steps if you can. You all good with that? Great, great. Thanks girls, I really appreciate it”
And then lo and behold, I find 3 eggs the next day and my talk seems to have done the trick. All in their home paddock as well so I don’t have to go walking through the other paddocks. It’s really strange though how they’ll just randomly lay an egg in one of their old abandoned nests but at least I know where those nests are so it makes for easy finding.
I’m actually wondering if maybe I should try buy 2 or 3 fake eggs. Then, when I find a nest of eggs I can take out the real ones, put in the fakes and hopefully convince the ducks that it’s okay to keep on laying in that one spot.
Apparently the trick to egg laying and collecting is to keep the ducks in a house overnight and let them out late morning as all egg laying should be over by about 10ish. I think that’s an excellent idea, except that we’d have no one home to let them out. And of course, if you lock ducks in somewhere overnight they literally become sitting ducks for the ever present roving pests – stoats, cats, rats, etc
Of course, having 10 ducks to feed and finding only one or two eggs a day is quite disheartening. They’re looking incredibly healthy, and with all this free ranging they do surely they should be spitting out the eggs? Is ½ a dozen eggs a day really too much to expect?
We probably don’t even need to feed them but if we stop I suspect they will stop bothering to come home. Just like the pigs and the chickens, the ducks know exactly when dinner is and will stand and quack at the bottom of the stairs until someone arrives with food.
I really like the ducks though. I don’t know them on an individual level but they seem such happy, intelligent creatures that I’d love to add another dozen to the flock. It’s not going to happen though unless they start producing enough eggs so I can sell some to recoup costs.
Still, I shouldn’t grumble too much. If they’re keeping the bug population down it should do wonders for our soon to be resurrected vege garden.
wasted a good 10 or 15 minutes before we finally had them in again. Then we had to get Herb, Thyme and Thyme's lambs out. Aaron got ready to open the gate, leaving me to somehow separate Herb from the flock. I grabbed a piece of plywood to try use both as a visual wall and for protection. What can I say? being in close quarters with Herb and those huge horns is pretty bloody scary.
After running around in circles for several minutes Aaron got fed up. We swapped and he lunged several times for Herbs horns, eventually grabbing hold of one and slowly but surely dragged a bucking Herb to the gate. I opened it, Herb ran through. There was no way in hell I would have been strong enough to do that myself.
Aaron then eventually managed to grab Tulip and held her legs up. It was obvious what her problem was straight away. Her hooves were overgrown. I clipped them bit by bit as she stared at me and did some kind of weird sheep hyperventilation thing and kept struggling. It didn’t help that her lamb cried and cried and cried. I also struggled to cut the hoof as they’re very thick and rubbery. Eventually it was done though and Tulip and lamb shot through the gate. Tulip even managed to use her leg as she ran, which was something of a relief.
We did the same to Thyme next and she seemed to cope a lot better.
We had just Hazel and Thyme’s 6-month old ram left. We left the yards, cancelled the vet visit and waited for Barry to turn up.
Barry turned up about an hour later. We said hello and then went up to the house. I put the dogs away and went inside. I let myself cry for just a minute and then wiped away the tears. My grief for our animals is getting shorter these days but I like to think it will never completely disappear. I don’t ever want to become so hardened to death that I stop caring.
Aaron was standing on the verandah looking down the hill and then he disappeared.
It turns out Barry had been unable to catch and hold Hazel so Aaron went down to help. Within minutes it was all over and the 2 sheep were in the back of Barry’s vehicle. Aaron admits that watching the death spasms of an animal is hard. I could never watch it and be comfortable. Part of the brain is always convinced that the animal is suffering.
Our Neighbour Returns
Gary had flown back into Auckland on the Tuesday and was due back in Kaiwaka Wednesday afternoon. Twice a year he comes back for 2 weeks holiday. Not that it’s much of a holiday. He spends most of the time running around trying to keep up with property maintenance before flying off back to Aussie.
Aaron had pulled a large pork roast (our first home grown pork) out of the freezer Wednesday morning. I love how he does that to me. As soon as we have not oft seen guests he decides we’re going to have a roast. The amount of times I’ve ever cooked a roast, that isn’t chicken, can probably be counted on the one hand, and all those times have been on our block.
Roast pork was a completely new experience for me and on top of that I had to get the crackling right as well.
I grumbled to Aaron about his ability to put me on the spot like that. He brushed it off as a non-issue. I don’t know whether it’s because he has faith in me that I’ll get it right or just that he thinks cooking is a complete breeze. It’s only meat right?
I got out the River Cottage meat bible and reread parts of the Roast chapter. Lucky me, the skin was already scored beautifully. It was however a little disconcerting to see 3 or 4 short black hairs on part of the skin but I quickly pushed that to the back of my mind. I rubbed in plenty of olive oil and rock salt and shoved it in the oven.
Gary turned up late afternoon with his duty-free bourbon.
We caught up on this and that and of course we talked up the new neighbour. Gary had met Kevin that morning and seemed quite nervous about him. It appeared to all of us that Kevin was probably an ex bikie, and Gary obviously has visions of bikie reunions and illegal dealings going on. He asked us how we felt and we were honest. We thought he was a little rough around the edges but he seems pretty harmless enough. Having said that, we think it’s unlikely we’ll ever become great friends. We’ll say hello when we meet but probably not much more than that.
Gary said he’d told Kevin to keep off his land. I think he probably tried to say it tactfully and I can only hope it came across that way. Not my problem though. As I said to Gary, had Kevin moved in with a snarling rottweiler I might have been having issues with him but he moved in with a goat and some chickens and so at this stage I’m not too worried.
Eventually the pork came out of the oven and I was gobsmacked that it was cooked to absolute perfection. I swear this was the first time I had ever eaten real, unadulterated pork and it far exceeded any expectations I had.
I cannot believe how fantastically sweet and juicy our home grown pork is. It is nothing like supermarket pork. The colour, the flavour and oh my God the crackling! I cannot express how wonderful it feels, knowing that all those hours chopping fruit and veg, feeding out at 4am and massaging and cuddling all those cute little piggies has really paid off.
The whole meal I sat there transfixed in my own little world just wanting to express my surprise.
“Do you realize how good this is?! Can you taste how sweet this is? Did you have any idea pork could taste this good??!” but we had company, and while Gary enjoyed the meal, my exclamations would have been wasted on him.
When he’d raised the subject of our pig farming earlier in the evening, we had initially tried to explain our philosophy and beliefs. It was quickly apparent though that he could not grasp the concept of ethically raised, happy meat and so I gave up. Aaron wanted Gary to understand though and so he persisted until he too realized the effort was futile.
Gary’s a nice bloke but he’s also a simple bloke with simple wants and needs in life. Several times as we talked I became aware he completely lost track of some of the things we were talking about. Aaron is far better at conversing with people than I am and I have to be completely honest and say that I struggle to have a conversation with anyone who is on a different intellectual level than me. But,as it was, Gary seemed to also recognize this as a problem and after dinner politely thanked us and made his excuses and left.
I know he wonders why it was we did not get on with Murray and Patty but again I think it probably comes down to intellect. Our views on life and our knowledge are vastly different. Having an intelligent conversation with someone who cannot grasp what you’re saying is not conducive to easy-flow conversation. That’s not to say Gary’s a bad bloke. He’s not. He’s just too different.
The strangest part of the evening was that on more than one occasion he tried to convince us we’d be great parents. “You need to start having kids” he said. I decided not to tell him that my child-bearing years are now over.
He extolled the virtues of having kids, made even more special for him now he’s a granddad, and how rewarding it is. Yeah, blah-blah, I’ve heard it all before. And then he told us he’d only ever been a part-time dad. I decided not to point out why parenting was so enjoyable for him. He’s happy so there’s no reason to rain on his parade.
I don’t know what it is in me but there’s a self-righteous little bitch hiding there that sometimes just wants to tell people how it is. I don’t of course. Instead I just look around me and find myself thinking “Oh my god this world is full of stupid people. How is it the human race has actually progressed this far?”
The Ducks Explore the World
Talk about fantastic free-rangers. Our Indian Runner ducks, having cleared their paddock of all manner of tasty bugs, discovered a gap in the fence a few weeks back and haven’t looked back since.
Three or four times a day our ducks hop through the fence one by one and waddle on up the hill to where Frank’s old chicken coop is. From there they survey Stanley’s paddock and the DoC land and slowly waddle their way down the hill to either location, greedily scooping bugs as they go.
All the time they talk. Quack quack-quack quack. The first few times I spotted them on the wrong side of the fence was while I was down by the shed.
“Oi! What are you lot doing?!” The ducks would suddenly stop, stand up, looking guilty as hell and then quick smart, turn and briskly walk single-file up and over the hill and straight back into their paddock.
Of course, now that I know that this is their daily routine and that they will always go back home I have stopped yelling at them. Now they just carry on doing whatever they’re doing except if they see me on the drive. Then they will suddenly go very quiet and usually duck down or walk a little way to a spot where they are out of view.
Of course there is one downside to all this free ranging – egg collecting. The eggs can now be found in any one of 4 paddocks. Not only that but they have also become very cunning in their egg laying. They now set up communal egg laying nests, which are incredibly hard to find as they like to create them under clumps of grass, brush or fern, or their favourite, in the middle of blackberry bushes. As soon as I discover one nest they create another and it can take me days to find it. At the same time they will lay eggs randomly in some obvious, open spot and I am almost sure this is to throw us of the scent. Invariably I’ll pick up the egg and think “Woohoo an egg” and after 5 or 10 minutes of laborious searching will give up and relish the prize of one egg.
All the time there’s a little voice playing in the back of mind “They’re taking you for a fool. Don’t give in to their games” but I do of course and invariably the ducks have their little victory.
I do try to reason with them. “C’mon guys. Fair’s fair. I give you dinner, you give me eggs. That’s all I’m asking. I just want your eggs. You don’t want them and I do. It’s a fair trade…blah blah blah” and they listen as they quickly suck up dinner and then look at me, turning their heads from side to side. And then if I talk for too long they’ll suddenly turn on mass and quickly walk single file to the back fence where they huddle in a group and watch me intently.
And I can’t help but wonder if they’re plotting something over there by the back fence.
“Ladies, ladies, gather round. I think she’s onto us. Have you noticed how she keeps talking? Yeah, well I think we better lay a few more decoy eggs tomorrow, just to throw her off. Jean, Jennifer, you’re on decoy egg duty tomorrow. A couple around the pond somewhere would be great. Out in the open, really obvious, you know the drill. Actually, now that I think about it, Harriet, you couldn’t manage to lay us a third could you darling? Lay it in one of the old abandoned nests near the steps if you can. You all good with that? Great, great. Thanks girls, I really appreciate it”
And then lo and behold, I find 3 eggs the next day and my talk seems to have done the trick. All in their home paddock as well so I don’t have to go walking through the other paddocks. It’s really strange though how they’ll just randomly lay an egg in one of their old abandoned nests but at least I know where those nests are so it makes for easy finding.
I’m actually wondering if maybe I should try buy 2 or 3 fake eggs. Then, when I find a nest of eggs I can take out the real ones, put in the fakes and hopefully convince the ducks that it’s okay to keep on laying in that one spot.
Apparently the trick to egg laying and collecting is to keep the ducks in a house overnight and let them out late morning as all egg laying should be over by about 10ish. I think that’s an excellent idea, except that we’d have no one home to let them out. And of course, if you lock ducks in somewhere overnight they literally become sitting ducks for the ever present roving pests – stoats, cats, rats, etc
Of course, having 10 ducks to feed and finding only one or two eggs a day is quite disheartening. They’re looking incredibly healthy, and with all this free ranging they do surely they should be spitting out the eggs? Is ½ a dozen eggs a day really too much to expect?
We probably don’t even need to feed them but if we stop I suspect they will stop bothering to come home. Just like the pigs and the chickens, the ducks know exactly when dinner is and will stand and quack at the bottom of the stairs until someone arrives with food.
I really like the ducks though. I don’t know them on an individual level but they seem such happy, intelligent creatures that I’d love to add another dozen to the flock. It’s not going to happen though unless they start producing enough eggs so I can sell some to recoup costs.
Still, I shouldn’t grumble too much. If they’re keeping the bug population down it should do wonders for our soon to be resurrected vege garden.
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