Phil, my husband, and I have five ducks. Four pretty hens and a handsome and attentive drake. Their names are Beatrice, Doris, Roslyn, Mrs. Hudson, and Benedict. How did we come upon such sweet companions, well, that's a story. It starts with just two ducks...Beatrice and Doris.
We had a neighbor who has since moved out. This neighbor is also "responsible" for five of the seven cats we share home with as well, but that's a tale for another time. This neighbor had a small coop and a good sized setup for a small flock of three ducks (all hens) and four or five chickens, one of which was a rooster. At first, Phil and I got along with this neighbor very well, though we quickly learned he was seriously lacking in the animal care department. Now, Phil and I don't expect everyone in the world to do what we do for our animals, but there are some basics that we strongly believe everyone who owns a pet should follow and certain behaviors are simply unacceptable in my mind. We had already witnessed the negligent behavior with the cats, but the ducks were the final straw and this person was very wise to have vacated before I could march over and give him a piece of my mind.
It was May 2016 and Phil and I were preparing the property for our wedding. After 7 years of being together, we were finally going to make it official. We were going to get married on this small paradise in progress we call home and had been busily working towards that event when we were informed of very sad news. Phil's grandmother, Maryanna, had passed away at the age of 93. We immediately made plans to travel to Wyoming for the funeral. My good friend Mike, was going to come stay at the farm and look after the cats and dog and our friend Glenda was going to come by and care of the barn babies (two goats, two alpaca, and one llama).
As you can imagine, Phil and I were already a wee bit stressed in the wedding preparations. There had been lots of bickering in the weeks before we received this sad news and starting making arrangements to drive to Wyoming. We had a plan to leave as early as 5am for our very long drive straight through to Sheridan, Wyoming and Mike had settled into the guest bedroom the night before to pick up the morning feedings and duties for us the morning of our departure. I am an early riser and 5am doesn't bother me although coffee is most definitely always needed. Phil is most definitely not a morning person whatsoever. Regardless, he was up and loading the car while I packed up the snacks I had prepared for the road trip and wrote up last minute instructions for Mike.
Phil had designed a beautiful rock garden and had been working with our friend and excavator to get it finished. New grass had been planted to cover the newly dug irrigation line and he had been religious about watering the grass daily so that it would fill in before the wedding. First thing he did, while smoking his morning cigarette and drinking his first cup of coffee, was turn on the sprinkler.
It was a beautiful morning, I remember that. Blue skies and already warm at 5am, the birds were singing and the forest was already thick, so the creek was hard to see from the back porch. Phil had the left the front door open, letting the morning breeze flow through the screen door. I was crabby, I admit it. I was tired and I was flustered, checking everything I had packed to make sure I had everything needed.
"Um, Chris.." I heard Phil say through the screen door.
"What?" I snapped grumpily, slurping my morning coffee.
"Get out here, please..." the tone was apprehensive.
I immediately was annoyed, having only gotten a few sips off my coffee so far, so I sighed, put down the cup and marched over to the door.
Phil was standing in the front yard, eyebrows raised, his gaze directing me to whatever scene had his attention.
"You've got to be f*cking kidding me..." fell right out of my mouth at the sight of them.
I recognized them immediately as the neighbor's and I started seething with the knowledge that he had moved out completely a few days before. Drawn by the sound of the sprinkler and the promise of water, were two ducks. One was snowy white with a black beak, the other also snowy white with the same black beak and feet, but speckled with spots of black, grey, purple, and brown. They were flapping their wings in the water, bathing, gulping water off the spigot, and preening with relief. They conversed in their happy language, completely ignoring our presence. As we watched for a few minutes more, saying nothing, the white duck started stamping her black feet into the grass and they both started foraging, prying up worms and new grass seedlings with their beaks. They were hungry.
I looked at Phil and he stared back at me, his cigarette dangling between his fingers, shaking his head.
"He left them behind," I said, "Didn't you say he stopped and told you he was out of here the other day? His grandmother told me he was going to get the birds before he left when I talked to her the other day. Did he have any of them with him when you saw him?"
"Nope. He didn't have them with him and he said he was leaving. I wonder where the rest of them are," Phil said.
The look on my face must have said it all. A quick inspection next door revealed the coop was left open, all protection from all predators removed. I was sickened. I would not usually jump to conclusions, but given the situation we had witnessed with the cats, it was a logical step. He had left them with not protection for the coyotes, owls, and eagles, to clean up for him.
"Well, what are we going to do? We can just leave them out here to their own devices. They'll die," I said.
There was no way that was going to happen.
"We don't have a coop, Chris. Where are we going to put them?"
"Well, we can put them in the dog yard and ask Mike to get some feed for them. Since we're taking Ilta with us, she won't need to use it and its fenced at least," I suggested. It was the only place we had that would protect them.
"Good idea," Phil said. He put out his cigarette and we herded the ducks together into the back yard and closed the gate. At our approach, they started chattering and waddling from us. Phil left to gather a bucket of water and I hurried into the house. We were already late to our schedule at this point, but neither of us worried too much about that. There were ducks that needed our help.
Awakened by the commotion of us moving about upstairs, Mike wandered out of the guest bedroom rubbing his eyes. I met him in the hallway with a twenty dollar bill in hand and said, "Hey, here's $20 bucks. Can you maybe go to the feed store and get duck food today?"
Baffled, Mike squinted, took the money, and asked with confusion, "Ok...why?"
At that moment, Doris, the white duck, let out a very loud series of quacks.
Mike has known us for awhile and has grown somewhat accustomed to occurrences like this. At the sight of the two ducks now looking through the back sliding door at us, chattering loudly, he just giggled, shook his head, and said, "Ok...that's why. Sure."
Twenty five minutes later, Phil and I were driving to Wyoming with Ilta, our black lab, in the backseat. I was composing a very terse email to the neighbor's grandmother and owner of the house he had vacated informing her that we had his ducks. All the while, I was venting to my husband.
"Tell her that if he doesn't want them, we'll keep them," Phil interjected.
"Really?" I said, surprised, my rage abated at the idea of being able to keep them. We had always talked about having ducks, but had decided to wait until we had a proper coop and pond build to house them, "But we don't have anything ready yet."
"Well, they're here now. If he was willing to leave them behind, he clearly doesn't want them and we've always wanted ducks. They can get along in the back yard until we have something built for them. Besides, then we'll have eggs."
We decided to wait and see what the response would be to the email. It came within an hour of my sending it. His grandmother was horrified and just as angry as we were. She had contacted his mother, her daughter, who had shared in the anger at her son's actions and ask her mother to inform us that if we wanted to give them a home, they were ours.
"Well, we have ducks. I say we name the speckled one Beatrice and the loud one Doris," I said to Phil.
And that's how we ended up with the two. Beatrice and Doris gave us our first eggs the week we returned from Wyoming. We bought a large stock tank and filled it for them. They swam, played, gossiped, preened, and foraged happily. I dove into research and determined they were likely both some kind of Ancona cross, if not pure Anconas - a heirloom breed of ducks very well adapted to the Pacific Northwest and the very breed we had talked about getting eventually. Beatrice proved to be the most mild mannered one. We can pick her up, carry her under our arms, and she even "hugs" laying her head over your shoulder or tucking it under your chin. Doris, is loud and demanding and does not care for cuddles.
Of course, two was just company...not a crowd or even a flock in my mind and so, as the wedding approached, I put out requests to a few poultry groups I had joined on Facebook looking for more Ancona ducks to join our flock and a drake too. I got a response from a lady who had one Magpie female duck, a female Ancona, and a Ancona drake she would sell me for $70.
It was the day before the wedding and my Mom agreed to drive me over to get them. They were "meat birds" the lady said when we arrived, and prime specimens. I didn't tell her I had no intention of turning them into meat and tried to not show my horror when she said she would butcher the drake for me when he was ready for a fair price. I politely declined, quickly paid and helped my Mom load them into the large dog crate I had brought into the back of her SUV. They were distressed and confused. On the way home, every corner we turned my Mom would apologize to them as we heard the scuttling of their feet trying to find balance accompanied by their protests.
My best friend and maid of honor, Stacey, met us in the driveway and volunteered to help me carry the crate to the back yard to turn them into what was now the duck yard. Phil had fenced off a large portion of the dog yard and put in a gate so Ilta, our dog, still had her yard, but the ducks were safe in their half. Carrying the crate, Stacey giggled and said, "If I found myself carrying a crate full of ducks the day before anyone else's wedding, I would be shocked, but not with you."
We laughed as we set them all loose and watched them explode out of the crate in a flurry of feathers, happy to be free. The Magpie hen, I named Roslyn. The Ancona female, I named Mrs. Hudson (to fill out my cast of Sherlock Holmes characters) and the drake, I named Benedict.
Benedict immediately took control of his flock and hens. Within weeks, we had eggs from all the hens save one. Mrs. Hudson, who we are pretty sure is part runner duck, was not laying and actually quite terrified of EVERYTHING. Benedict had taken to chasing her exclusively and, when she would run away, he would latch on and pull feathers out of her back and neck as she ran away. It was horrible. We came home from Phil's Navy reunion cruise to find her feathers completely stripped off her back and I said, "That's it. I can't take it. He has to leave her alone."
I dove into my resources and researched what to do about this and found all kinds of suggestions. Finally, I decided to try separating Benedict from the flock and reintroducing him after awhile. For weeks, Benedict squished himself up against the fenceline to be close to the hens on the other side, clearly depressed and distraught that he couldn't be with them. I felt bad for him, but hoped this would be for the best. Mrs. Hudson's feathers grew back in and she became much more settled and secure with the other hens. Finally, he was reintroduced back into the flock. We have never had a problem since.
Benedict has become a much more polite suitor to the ladies since this forced separation and I always smile seeing him "ask" the girls if he can carry out his drake duties. His "ask" is a cute little head bobbing dance in the pond while swimming with the girls. He has also become very protective of his ladies. On more than one occasion, I have seen him flapping his wings and shooing the girls into safety at the sight or sign of an eagle overhead and during the coldest nights this winter, he has been stationed dutifully outside their nesting house, watching the door while the girls are all settled inside and warm.
This morning, I went out to feed the ducks their morning grain and was pleased to find Beatrice inside the nesting house with a new egg under her. I just changed out their straw bedding in their nesting house this last Saturday. Its been awhile since they were laying regularly, but the weather is starting to warm up just a touch. As I opened the gate, Mrs. Hudson and Roslyn scuttled out from behind the nesting house. Peering around behind the nesting house, what do I find? 9 eggs! A makeshift nest of straw and mud was pulled together in the space between the wall and the nesting house. I filled my pockets with the eggs and fed the grain. Looking across the yard, I saw another egg laying out in the open in the middle of the yard. 10 eggs in three days, I guess its laying season again! The girls want ducklings it appears too, given their reluctance to move off the nest so we can collect eggs. I hope they forgive us for not allowing this just yet. When we have a permanent yard and the proper accommodations, I am sure we'll grant them their wish.
I love my little flock and all the joy they bring us. On rough days or stressful days, just a few minutes of watching them forage, preen, swim, or nap seems to lift my spirits.
