Duckducks are undeterred by snow, but irritated that it makes their food sink.
Greetings! I spent Christmas in New England, eating all the fishes and not checking my email. It was quite lovely, ignoring my responsibilities so thoroughly, although now that I'm back my to-do list is kind of overwhelming. I'm pretty consistently barely hanging onto this real job/ activist shit / food blog / community thing I'm doing, and it piles up quickly when I take five days off. No words shall be said about the state of my other adult responsibilities, like laundry and budgeting and cleaning my room.
Also, one of our ducks broke her toenail.. and another one might have bumblefoot? It's been a bad couple days for duck feet. Here's Pearl, hanging out in a warm water and saline soak prior to toenail-bandaging. Luckily for me, my farmwife is a pretty prepared duck-nurse.
Happy New Year!
I'm not sure how to feel about using TBT correctly. This feels like a betrayal of my cranky-old-man luddite status. On the other hand, this week I learned how to turn the lights on inside my car for the first time, and I got the car in June, so maybe I'm not in that much danger.
- I am very grateful mud isn't a consistent problem around here
- When a Tinder date asks what you did this weekend, 'shoveling duck poop' is not a very good answer. You should probably invent something less gross.
This is a rough week in America, which is a sentence I've found myself saying more frequently than is perhaps reasonable. Please take care of yourselves, and then call your representatives. Mine are counting their NRA money while praying, but yours might be more useful.
Also, for anyone who hasn't read it, this is a great primer on American gun violence.
If it helps, my ducks are judging me too. Look at that side eye. Hey, duck ducks, you don't get to judge me- you're terrible at eating and are somehow ALWAYS dirty. YOU HAVE A POOL.
Duck ducks would like to point out that they live in a dirt pit and that their hygiene does not excuse me from cooking actual meals. Also, they would like some tomatoes please.
So yep, I gave it to the ducks. Serendipitously, we were looking for a container that was too heavy for them to knock over- for some reason our 'plastic clam-shell full of rocks' idea wasn't sustainable. I'm still pretty sad that my dutch oven is dead... but at least it's being used for cute purposes.
In the words of my farmwife: have you ever wondered what it would be like to eat raw zucchini without hands if your mouth was just two spoons? Wonder no more.
Also poopy... so very poopy. I think this is because they're growing at an extraordinary pace. These photos were taken, like, a week after the last ones. A week!!
This was the ducks' first day outside, and they were definitely a little confused.
Left duck is also a little concerned about the camera.
They don't have names yet, because if any turn out to be male we'll have to kill them; male ducks will literally rape chickens to death (seriously, raising animals is brutal) and I don't want to get any more attached than I already am. That ship may have sailed already though... just look at them foraging!
AND THE DUCK BUTTS LOOK AT THE DUCK BUTTS
And lastly, here is one of the ducks sitting on top of my neighbor/activism boss/friend (partner in duck and town-hall related crime? Farm wife? Our relationship is platonic and multi-layered. I'm taking terminology suggestions).
Just to be clear, the duck climbed up there all by herself. Farmwife is holding onto her because baby ducks will throw themselves off stuff and injure themselves. One of them dive-bombed off my shoulder the other day, and when it hit the ground I was pretty convinced it was going to die (it did not).
Anyways... ducks! Ducks ducks ducks!