Goodbye to Herbie, Last of the Spice Dogs

We took our 17 year old Chihuahua, Herbie, to the vet today, to be euthanized. His health had been steadily deteriorating, and this last week, rapidly so. He was in much pain, so it was the only kind choice, to end his suffering.

We had a group of dogs when we owned our restaurant many years ago. The first four were females, and we gave them all the names of spices, so we called them "The Spice Girls". Then we added one more dog, the only male. We named him Herbie (as in "herbs and spices"). Thereafter, the group was "Herbie and the Spice Girls". Here they are, at the height of their glory days:

In the above photo, Herbie is standing at the forefront. In the back, from left to right, is: Coriander, Saffron, Rosemary, and Marjoram.

Marjoram and Rosemary died while we were still living in San Francisco. The rest came to Oregon with us to live here on the farm.

Saffron died in 2007. Coriander died in 2011. Herbie, the last of the group, was also the last to go. We did a toast to him and the Spice Girls at dinner. It was the end of an era, and the end of a group that was (is and always will be) close to our hearts.

They are survived by our farm dog Digby, and our siamese cat, Smudgie, and 23 chickens and three ducks.

Here is how I'll always remember Herbie: leading Corrie and Digby in a charge attack on the Evil Vacuum cleaner:




Here is a photo of Herbie, when we adopted him from a dog rescue organization:

Here is probably the last photo I have of him, taken last summer:

He had a good long life. R.I.P. Herbie. May all of our Spice Dogs R.I.P.

Thanks for all your love. The world was a better place for having you here. And now Heaven is a better place for having you there.


   

Oh, Deer! What could the matter be?

A few days ago, we had a back-yard visitor:


She seemed VERY interested in the fresh greens we had growing under netting. Fortunately she couldn't get at them.

We had seen evidence that there had been deer in the yard, but this is the first one we have actually seen during the seven years we've lived here.

So what could the matter be? Nothing, yet. It's just that when I went out in the yard, she didn't seem too bothered, and took her time leaving. Not very skittish. I just hope I won't have to start thinking of them as pests. So far so good.
     

Corriander, our beloved Chug, is no more

She was a Chihuahua - Pug mix, so we called her a "Chug". She was 16 years old, which is something like 115 in dog years. She died one week ago tonight.

It was my ham radio night, when our radio net meets on the air. I always feed the dogs a little later on those nights. The net had ended, and I had prepared her food and was bringing it to her when I heard her yelping rapidly, in a panic. She was on her bed, with her head hanging over the edge, like she was trying to get up.

I put the food down and rushed to her, just in time to hold her while she died.

I think it was her heart. It didn't last long. I held her and stroked her and rubbed her ears and spoke the usual words of comfort to her, as the life left her body.

It was sad. And it sounds kinda awful, but it wasn't really. She died at home, in the hands of someone who loved her. And it was quick.

She was completely deaf, and almost completely blind. She slept most of the time.

Last year, she started to lose her mind, like a kind of doggie alzheimers. The vet put her on some prescription dog kibble, called "b/d" (for "brain diet"). It worked; she came back to us, mentally. But she continued to slow down physically.

I had to walk her on the leash, or she wouldn't walk with us. Toward the end, I carried her a lot. On that last day, I could not find her leash, so I had carried her most of the way through our walk in the woods.

At night she would poop and pee on newspapers I left out for her, because she couldn't manage the stairs anymore, or even the dog door. Lately she had stared to become careless about going on the paper; I was dreading having to take her to the vet to be put down, putting it off as long as I could. Now that won't be necessary.

I had hoped she would die quietly in her sleep. But perhaps she needed me to be there at the end. Anyway, that's how it played out. I was there.

Our other two dogs were there, watching. They understood.




She had a good long life. We had some fun times. I posted once years back about how she survived cancer, using natural treatments. She continued to enjoy life, even as she aged. As she slowed down, we made it easier for her.




We buried her in the garden, next to Saffron, our Boarder Collie - Aussie Shepard mix, whom she was very attached to. I planted blue daisies on top of her grave, so that when I say "Corrie's pushing up daisies now", it will be more than just a figure of speech.




Good bye, Corrie. You will always be my favorite Chug.
     

Our August Surprise. Actually, seven of them.

Every year, the Bantam chickens try creating secret stealth nests to hatch out chicks. We don't want any more Bantams, so each year I find most of the nests before they hatch out. But they ARE clever, and each year, at least one hen succeeds in hatching out a batch before I can find her nest. Here is this years batch:



Just a few days ago, I heard some peeping sounds from a cardboard box on our back porch. The box had been filled with scrap pieces of wood. Not enough room for a nesting hen, I would have thought, but I was wrong. A Bantam squeezed her way in among the wood pieces. When I removed the largest wood piece, I saw her, with her seven little chicks running around her.

I suppose a real farmer who didn't want them would drown them in a bucket of water or something. I guess they are lucky I'm not a real farmer.




Each chicklet is smaller than my thumb! They can run through chicken wire, just barely slowing down enough to squeeze through the holes.

I used to fuss over the Bantams when we first got them, making sure everything was just right, by the book, when the chicks were hatched. But that seems funny now. Why? Because they are like cockroaches; almost impossible to eradicate!

And for such small birds, they eat like horses. But on the plus side, they eat a lot of bad insects, so they aren't completely useless. We use their eggs (and the excess roosters) as dog food.




In this last photo, the mother and babies are next to a full-sized chicken, so you can see how small they all are.

This group of chicks we have nicknamed "The Pleiades", because there are seven of them. And because we hope they will all be females, instead of dog food.

     

Born Yesterday...

Actually, it was the day before yesterday. And "hatched" might be a more accurate description.


There were four chicks in this batch. In the next photo, you can see #4 peaking out from under mama's wing:


I put the eggs under the hen on Mother's Day. They hatched on Memorial Day. So I guess you could say they are Holiday Chicks.


Here they are basking in the setting sun. In a day or two, I will let them outside so mom can teach them to forage.


The hen is not their biological mother. She is a Bantam-Cochen mix. The chicks are hybrids of two larger breeds: Leghorn mother, Americana father. Leghorns make lousy mothers though, so I put the eggs under the best broody hen I had at the time.

They are going to grow much larger than this hen. She has quite a task ahead of her. Fortunately, she's quite tough. ;-)
     

How quickly they grow. And fly too!

I had published this photo previously, taken on Easter Day:



Here is how the little babies look today:



They have gotten so big, that they jump out of their container every time I open it now. And they don't just run around, they fly too. So today is the day they got moved outside, to the nursery in the chicken coop:



They have a heat lamp there, for any really cold nights we might still have, and a separate run outside. They can see all the other chickens, and vice-verse, so they get used to seeing each other before we introduce them into the general population, in about two weeks. Perhaps sooner, we'll see how it goes.


     

Farm Report: New Chicks and a Rooster Coup

Here is a photo I took of our new Leghorn chicks that we got from the local Feed Store. They were about two and a half weeks old when the photo was taken, which was Easter Sunday. They are growing fast.

In the last report, I mentioned that the Bantams where hatching chicks, five and one in process. Well the 6th one died not long after hatching (it's true: never count your chicks before they're hatched). Then, the 5th one died when it fell into the dogs water dish and drowned.




So there are four left, it looks like two little roosters and two hens. One of the hens is a runt, she lags behind, but manages to survive thus far.

There was a bloody coup in the coop last week. Literally. My poor little white Bantam rooster was covered in blood. The two larger feathery-foot hybrid roosters ganged up on him and bloodied him pretty badly. He survived, but is no longer the Alpha rooster; he's now a reluctant "Delta", though he still keeps the other two on their toes, giving them a hard time.

The Egg Report for March

Full size hens: 79 eggs. Bantam hens: 96 eggs.

Total for March: 175 Year to date total: 355


End of Farm Report!
     

Farm Report: January and February Egg Counts

We're letting three of the feathery-foot daughters of Turendot, our Cochin hen, have their own babies this year. So far I've counted 5, with #6 trying to hatch out yesterday. Here is a recent photo, with a bold blond chick. The others have a tendency to run and hide when I take out the camera. But not our little Lana Turner. She can't wait to be discovered.

We are having all kinds of flowers here on the farm, from the fruit trees (apples, plums) to the daffodils:







But we are still having night temperatures in the 30's. We could yet get some snow, but who knows? Rainfall this year has been below normal.

Pat has more photos on his blog: Spring at Robin's Wood


The EGG REPORT:

January: Bantams 49, Large Hens 37, for a total of 86.

February: Bantams 68, Large Hens 26, for a total of 94.

Current total this year: 180.

We would have had more eggs, but since we have three hens sitting and hatching, they stop laying eggs until they raise their chicks. We also lost a hen in a hawk attack a few weeks ago. A rooster, too. That's one of the things that prompted me to let the chickens start raising their babies early this year. We need replacements. That's the way it goes on the farm.

End of Farm Report.
     

Farm Report: "Chickenblogging" disappointment

When I bought my DV movie camera, I had high hopes of making short videos about life on the farm, and putting them on my blog. It hasn't worked out too well, for a variety of reasons.

My Brilliant Career as a Chickenblogger - NOT
Mostly, it's been too time consuming. I have to film the footage, transfer it to the computers hard drive, edit it, then save it in a format that can be uploaded to the blog or to Youtube.

It's the last step that has proven to be the most frustrating. I can save it to a format that looks good, but then I can't upload it because... I'm not sure why. All the formats I've been able to use to upload to blogger or to Youtube are of inferior quality. If I try to upload the better quality ones I get "error" messages. This one below is the best I've been able to manage for Youtube:




It's not absolutely awful, but I'm not satisfied with the quality. If it isn't excellent, then I can't be bothered with it, it seems like a lot of work for nothing.

The other problem is, the subject matter itself. This video was taken in October. While I was waiting to find the time to transfer and edit the video, the chicks continued to grow very fast. And "things" happened. Two of the female chicks drowned in the duckpond. One of the male chicks hurt his leg, and had to be... "harvested" (turned into dog food).

So six of the chicks have survived, and are almost grown up now. Two are hens, and four are roosters. Three of the four roosters are most likely destined to become dog food, because we can't keep a lot of roosters. Not the happiest ending to the story. And video wise, I haven't been able to keep up with the story, and I'm not sure I even want to.

It looks like my career as a chickenblogger has ended before it's begun.


The Egg Report

I didn't get to any reports for the past three months, so here they are now.

October: 25 pullet eggs, 78 Bantam eggs, for a total of 103

November: 14 pullet eggs, 14 Bantam eggs, for a total of 28

December: 19 pullet eggs, 16 Bantam eggs, for a total of 35

Totals for the year: 568 pullet eggs, 895 Bantam eggs.

Combined grand total of 1,463 eggs in 2009.


I'm using the term "pullet" loosely, because most of our full sized hens are no longer young. At the height of Winter, we usually don't get any eggs, but this year has been different. Our youngest full-sized chicken is an Orpington, which are known for laying eggs all year-round. And the Bantams that are laying eggs now are the Bantam-Cochin hybrid hens. I would like to cross breed them with the Orpington. The hybrid roosters fancy her, so we will see how that goes.

Here is a pic of the hybrid family while they were still living in the nursery:




The two baby hens are sitting under their mother. The photo was taken at the end of October; they are all much bigger now, nearly full grown. I was going to move them out the nursery at Christmas, by removing the perch so they would have to join the rest of the general population. But before I could do that, their mom did it. She just went and sat with the rest of the birds, and her children followed her. She's been using the babies to climb the social ladder in the coup, literally. She is trying to force her way to the top perch, but their has been resistance from the pecking order.

The two girls still stick close to their mother, but the boys have become much more independent. A bit like juvenile delinquents. Typical roosters.

In other coup news... you may remember the hen called Freezerburn, a brown hybrid hen from the first batch, with a white face that looked like a freezerburn? Well she had her first molt this year, and when she did all her face feathers grew in brown instead of white, and now she is a much sought after "babe":




In fact, she and the Alpha rooster in the coup have become an "item"; they often hang out together, and he looks after her as one of his favorites. At last, some happy news in the coup. They are hand-tamed, and two of my favorites. I'm hoping they make some babies in the spring.

End of Farm Report!

     

Super Christmas Lights, VS my paltry effort

Amazing Grace Techno - Computer Controlled Christmas Lights from Richard Holdman on Vimeo.

It's quite a Light Show, music and all. (H.T. to Kim Komando)


Here is my meager display:


I almost didn't bother. But I ended up doing it for the same reason I do it every year. The gloom and early darkness get to me. The lights cheer me up tremendously. My effort isn't all that grand to be sure, but it sure lights up a bit of my life, our life here on the farm. A bit of warmth in the growing cold and darkness.

And mine doesn't take as long to put up or take down! ;-)



It ain't fancy, but we like it. I'm way behind on the Farm Report, two months behind, but I'll hopefully get to it soon. I've had a lot of other priorities, gearing up for winter, and other things.

     

"Feathery Foot Club" adds nine new members

Seven of the new members can be seen here. The other two are being sat on by their mother. This will be the last bunch for the year, if all goes by plan.

Hopefully most of them are hens, we could use some more egg production. August's egg count:

Pullets had 65 eggs (8 less than previous month), Bantams had 91 (48 less), for a monthly total of 156 (47 less). The yearly total is now 1,174.

End of Farm Report.

     

Is "Urban Farming" a new and growing trend?

Apparently Urban Farming isn't all that new; it's been around for a long time. What is new is the renewed interest that people have been showing in it, as our nation's economy struggles, and many people desire to become more food-independent, using whatever land is available to them for farming. I've been reading more and more, articles about people fighting city ordinances so they can be allowed to keep chickens in their back yards, etc.

This renewed interest in urban and suburban farming helps explain the popularity of a book I heard about recently. The other night on the radio, I heard part of an interview with Novella Carpenter, who is flogging her new book:

Farm City: The Education of an Urban Farmer"
Here are some descriptions from Amazon.com's website:

From Publishers Weekly
In this utterly enchanting book, food writer Carpenter chronicles with grace and generosity her experiences as an urban farmer. With her boyfriend Bill's help, her squatter's vegetable garden in one of the worst parts of the Bay Area evolved into further adventures in bee and poultry keeping in the desire for such staples as home-harvested honey, eggs and home-raised meat.

The built-in difficulties also required dealing with the expected noise and mess as well as interference both human and animal. When one turkey survived to see, so to speak, its way to the Thanksgiving table, the success spurred Carpenter to rabbitry and a monthlong plan to eat from her own garden.

Consistently drawing on her Idaho ranch roots and determined even in the face of bodily danger, her ambitions led to ownership and care of a brace of pigs straight out of E.B. White. She chronicles the animals' slaughter with grace and sensitivity, their cooking and consumption with a gastronome's passion, and elegantly folds in riches like urban farming history.

Her way with narrative and details, like the oddly poetic names of chicken and watermelon breeds, gives her memoir an Annie Dillard lyricism, but it's the juxtaposition of the farming life with inner-city grit that elevates it to the realm of the magical. (June)
Copyright © Reed Business Information, a division of Reed Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved.

"Farm City" author Novella Carpenter

Product Description
Urban and rural collide in this wry, inspiring memoir of a woman who turned a vacant lot in downtown Oakland into a thriving farm.

Novella Carpenter loves cities — the culture, the crowds, the energy. At the same time, she can’t shake the fact that she is the daughter of two back-to-the-land hippies who taught her to love nature and eat vegetables. Ambivalent about repeating her parents’ disastrous mistakes, yet drawn to the idea of backyard self-sufficiency, Carpenter decided that it might be possible to have it both ways: a homegrown vegetable plot as well as museums, bars, concerts, and a twenty-four-hour convenience mart mere minutes away. Especially when she moved to a ramshackle house in inner city Oakland and discovered a weed-choked, garbage-strewn abandoned lot next door. She closed her eyes and pictured heirloom tomatoes, a beehive, and a chicken coop.

What started out as a few egg-laying chickens led to turkeys, geese, and ducks. Soon, some rabbits joined the fun, then two three-hundred-pound pigs. And no, these charming and eccentric animals weren’t pets; she was a farmer, not a zookeeper. Novella was raising these animals for dinner. Novella Carpenter’s corner of downtown Oakland is populated by unforgettable characters. Lana (anal spelled backward, she reminds us) runs a speakeasy across the street and refuses to hurt even a fly, let alone condone raising turkeys for Thanksgiving. Bobby, the homeless man who collects cars and car parts just outside the farm, is an invaluable neighborhood concierge. The turkeys, Harold and Maude, tend to escape on a daily basis to cavort with the prostitutes hanging around just off the highway nearby. Every day on this strange and beautiful farm, urban meets rural in the most surprising ways.

For anyone who has ever grown herbs on their windowsill, tomatoes on their fire escape, or obsessed over the offerings at the local farmers’ market, Carpenter’s story will capture your heart. And if you’ve ever considered leaving it all behind to become a farmer outside the city limits, or looked at the abandoned lot next door with a gleam in your eye, consider this both a cautionary tale and a full-throated call to action. Farm City is an unforgettably charming memoir, full of hilarious moments, fascinating farmers’ tips, and a great deal of heart. It is also a moving meditation on urban life versus the natural world and what we have given up to live the way we do.

Gosh. I find the book interesting, because I'm amazed that she has been able to do so much productive farming with a small city lot.

I live in the countryside, and we've been trying to turn our country home into a farm. I've lamented at times that we don't have more cleared land to work with. Yet, seeing what Novella has accomplished, I am greatly encouraged. If she can do so much with so little, certainly we can achieve something with the resources we've been blessed with here.

There was this comment left in the comment's section on the book's Amazon.com page:

As a reader, it was just a great read--fast and smooth, funny and informative, opinionated but not preachy--that even a non-farmer would appreciate. I am so impressed with the high road that Novella took by not engaging in political commentary. Although I am certain that she and I would agree very little about many things, she let the book speak to all the things we can have in common. Conservatives and Liberals will neither be baited or offended by this book. I admire that so much. I am not sure that I could have pulled it off.

As a dabbling suburban farmer in the Northwest, this book was both a source of encouragement and a justificaiton of our whacky, foul-filled backyard. I feel like I have a neighbor somewhere who gets it. I feel vindicated and motivated. I started out wanting some fresh eggs, now I am part of a movement! ;)

Boy, I would appreciate that too! I have strong interests in Tilth Farming and Alternative Medicine; two areas that attract a lot of people on the political Left. When researching information on these topics, one sometimes has to read through tiresome politically-correct diatribes, in the search for facts on relevant topics. I'm grateful to any author who stays on topic and spares me that. I'm quite happy to agree to disagree with folks about many things, and happier still if they don't try to shove their opinions down my throat.

Judging from a comment I read on her flicker photo, I suspect Novella's had her fair share of grief from militant vegetarians and vegans. I know I have. As a result, I'm grateful when people, in general, aren't too pushy with their opinions. Perhaps she is too.

At any rate, listening to her on the radio, it sounds like she strikes an even-tone, and has a fun sense of humor. And judging from the many other favorable comments on the Amazon page, the book is a most enjoyable read. It made it onto Oprah's Book List, so it must have something going for it. I'm looking forward to reading it.

You can also visit Novella's blog: Ghost Town Farm
     

Farm Report: Queen of The Night, Grape Arbor

We have a large "Queen of the Night" orchid on our back porch. It has large blooms that open during the night, but each bloom opens for only one night. Recently, it bloomed:



One bloom opened Friday night, then withered in the morning. There were four buds left, and they all opened Saturday night.


It had a strong perfume that filled the room, not unpleasant, but kind of strange, like Industrial Strength Celery. Sorta. It's hard to describe.


Pat did some blog posts about the blooms, the first bloom that opened Friday night, and the other four blooms that opened Saturday night. Follow his links for more photos, and a lot more information about the flowering plant, which is also known as "Dutchman's Pipe" and "Cactus Orchid".


Another garden happening on the farm this year is our grape arbor, which we planted last year. This year, the vines are finally taking off in a big way.

Below is a photo of the duck run, in the summer of 2007. We decided to build the grape trellis over the run, because that area is very warm in the summer:



Here is what the duck run with the trellis over it looks like now, summer 2009:



We built planter boxes with good soil on the ends of the trellis, and trained the vines to go over the duck run. It seems to be working spelendidly.

We took the pool out of the duck run, because it was making the ground constantly wet, and a bad smell developed because it wasn't draining. We moved the pool out to the edge of a small hill, were the drainage was better. Also, that way, when the ducks get out of the water when it's time to lock them up, the excess water drips off them by the time they get to their house, so the inside of the house stays dryer and cleaner, too.

End of Farm Report!
     

Running out of Runner Ducks; Fond Memories

Miss Dilly, under the apple tree, April 2009

Our Indian Runner Duck, Miss Dilly, died Wednesday morning. She was listless and not eating for a couple of days beforehand. She often has gotten ill in the Summer, around molting time. I figured there was a Summer plant or insect that she would ingest that caused it. Each time she would recover, but not this time.

She was the last survivor of the pair of Indian Runner Ducks we got in 2006:



Pat and Andy bought them for me for my birthday. I always wanted to have some ducks, and these did not disappoint. They were adorable:



They ate like horses, and grew quickly. They would eat pieces of banana out of my hands; I became their mommy. They were very funny and amusing.



They aren't exactly "cuddly" like a dog or cat is, but they have a way of making you grow fond of them. We all got used to their ways, and they quickly became favorite pets. We named the boy "Daffy" and the girl "Dilly":



Domestic ducks seem a bit more intelligent than chickens, and have more of a personality. Ours quickly acclimated to being outside once the weather got warmer:



One of their favorite spots was the pool. Endless Fun, for them and us:



We built them a duck house, with an enclosed cage attached, and surrounded it with a fence and a gate. I would lock them in their house at night for safety. They seemed happy there.





We eventually moved the pool inside the duck pen, so they could linger there in the summer evenings. Ultimately, that turned out to be not a good idea, for reasons I'll explain soon.

Daffy, the Drake, was rather aggressive about protecting Dilly. Once he bruised my arm. I held his beak tightly and scolded him; he never bruised me again. He did often get under my feet though, and would peck at my legs. He could be a real pest when I was trying to get work done. But often it seemed like he wanted to play, and it was fun.

But our smallest Chihuahua, Herbie, didn't think it was fun. That dog and the drake didn't like each other, and I had to keep them separated.

One day that first summer, I came home to find a bloody trail from the dog run fence, leading to the drake cowering in the duck house, with a bloody beak. I suspected that he stuck it through the fence into the dog run, and the chihuahua bit it. His beak was cracked, but fortunately it healed. I "duck-proofed" the dog-run fence, so no beaks would fit through the lower portion.

They got through that first winter just fine.



Daffy was very attentive to and protective of Dilly, and she thrived on the attention.



The following summer was beautiful. The foraging ducks loved to eat slugs and snails, which helped the garden tremendously. Dilly gave us many, many delicious green duck eggs. She got sick a few times, we think from something she ate, perhaps poisonous salamanders, we never found out what it was, but she always recovered.

I got into the habit of driving the ducks into their pen in the evening, then letting them linger in their wading pool till sunset, when I would lock them in their duck house for the night. Ultimately that proved to be tragic.

As summer slowly slid into autumn, as it does here, it started getting darker earlier. I should have locked the ducks in their house right at Sunset every evening, but I hated to chase the ducks out of the pool. Since the duck pen was near the back porch, I left the porch light on so they could stay out longer. The dog run was nearby, so I figured that with the light on and the dogs near by, the ducks would be safe.

I figured wrong.

One evening, about an hour after sunset, I was going outside to lock the ducks up, when I heard Herbie barking frantically. I assumed he was barking at the drake, which he did sometimes. But when I got outside, I saw he was barking at our shed/shop. His bark had a frantic quality. I felt uneasy and rushed to put the ducks away, only to find, to my horror, that the drake was missing. Suddenly I realized, the dog was barking at the shed because something had got the drake and dragged it under the shed.

A raccoon had climbed over the fence into the duck pen. Daffy had dried to protect Dilly, and the raccoon ripped his throat open, then dragged the carcass over the fence and under the shed to eat it. My beautiful drake, who I had been playing with just that afternoon, was gone forever.

My Beautiful Drake

I didn't realize raccoons were hunters as well as scavengers. I found out the hard way.

Dilly, now alone, moped for quite some time after that. She walked around the farm for WEEKS, calling out for him. It was heartbreaking to hear it.

It was impossible to get more runner ducks at that time of year. A nearby farm was selling pairs of Mallard ducks, so we got a pair to keep her company.



I named the Mallards Dally and Dolly. They probably were not the best choice for Dilly. I suppose it was better than nothing, but the Mallards were into eachother, and took a long time to bond with Dilly. Eventually they all got along fine, but it wasn't like the relationship Dilly had with Daffy.

When summer came, Dolly, the Mallard hen, cranked out quite a few eggs. Dilly didn't lay any eggs. I thought ducks would lay eggs even if they didn't have a mate, but she didn't.

I had clipped the Mallard's wings when we got them, to keep them from flying away until they thought of our farm as home. When they molted the next fall (2008), they got their flight feathers back, and began to fly around the farm. It was glorious to behold! They started making afternoon trips away, to a nearby lake, I suspect. I didn't mind, because they always came back in the evening. But then one evening, the drake returned alone.

We never saw Dolly again. We suspect she was shot by a hunter, but we'll never know. I clipped Dally's wings, so we wouldn't loose him too.



The Mallard and Runner Duck now made an odd couple. He tried mating with her in the spring, and I was going to let her hatch out a clutch, but again, she did not lay any eggs this summer.

Dilly also developed some white spotting on her feathers. I thought it odd, but she seemed healthy otherwise. But she may have had something wrong with her internally. She got weak over a period of a few days, and by Wednesday morning, she died.

I don't generally get all that sentimental about birds, but the Runner Ducks were an exception; they were almost like dogs.

Goodbye Dilly,



Goodbye Daffy,



My Wonderful Runner Ducks. Thanks for the memories, I will miss you.

I had read that runner ducks can live 12 to 15 years. I fully expected ours to. I resolved to take good care of them, but my inexperience with predators got the one, and I'm not sure what got the other. The farmer part of me looks for an organic cause; the poet part of me thinks she died of a broken heart, having lost her ideal mate when Daffy was killed.

Advice for new duck owners who may be reading this: I read that most domestic ducks die from dog attacks, and that one should never leave a duck alone with a dog, no matter how well they seem to get along. So I didn't leave them alone together, but I also didn't anticipate the duck sticking his beak through the fence, looking for trouble. Make sure the lower part of a fence has wire mesh with holes small enough to prevent that.

And I would suggest you ALWAYS lock your ducks up in a safe, predator-proof enclosure after dark. Don't let your pet be a literal "sitting duck" for a hungry animal. Wild animals will always search for the weakness in your defenses, be it bad fencing or just plain carelessness. Be vigilant.

Now I have one duck left, the Mallard Drake. I would like to find him a female or two, but it's hard to do this time of year. We were given the number of someone who has more Runner Ducks, but I don't think I want to try them again.

I wasn't crazy about the Mallards when we got them, because I hadn't raised them from when they were babies, and they weren't very tame. They didn't like being touched, and would not eat out of my hand. But on the plus side, they didn't get underfoot while I was working; they didn't taunt or attack the dogs. The female was a great egg factory. And they were pretty smart about what they ate; nothing local seemed to make them sick. They are pretty and pleasant to have around.

And since we have one now anyway, the path of least resistance might be to stick with them and try to get more. We'll have to see what we can do.

Dally, the molting Double-Widower, Lone Survivor