If It Looks Like a Duck…

We’d all but given up on finding duck comrades for Felicity. It seemed every time we thought we had it sorted, we’d hit a snag of some kind and Felicity looked destined to live her life as a pseudo chicken. Not that she was complaining; she seemed happy with a life spent watching coop shenanigans from the sideline (except for when the grain was being distributed in which case she was front and centre and watch out anyone that got in her web-footed way) but we all felt a little bad for her. Ducks are meant to be able to splash around in water and chickens and water just don’t mix, so for the last year or so Felicity has been making do with a 9 litre plastic jug with sides high enough to discourage chicken aquatics – because they never end well.

To be fair, we are a bit fussy. We really didn’t want to entertain even the chance of us investing in feathered Homesteaders that would take to the air the moment the opportunity presented itself leaving Felicity looking wistfully skywards and us out of (often quite substantial) pocket, so that ruled out a great many. Not being able to find any ducks we knew without doubt were flightless we decided we should source some fertile eggs and let Felicity hatch out her future coopmates. Easier said than done. It was all proving just too ducking difficult.

We figured without the input from the direction of that small, select group of folk who listen to our rantings, celebrate our triumphs, sympathise our losses, are happy to be seen with us in public, and not only listen to our ramblings but laugh in the right places; the term “friends” is a very overused and hackneyed word. Seems the Godgirl had seen a message on her local facebook page from a lady who needed to rehome her substantial flock of duck dependants.

We spent the weekend transforming the under performing goat paddock garden into the kind of place discerning ducks would be proud to call home

and this morning we took delivery of Indie and Chip Chip. Duck dynamics can take a little volatile time to settle, but not with this trio who behaved like kids in a playground, chattering wildly and excitedly for a moment or two before heading off together in a wobble-waddle line to the far side of the enclosure to indulge in a little synchronised worm retrieval.

No decent photos yet exist of the Union Homestead duck residents

as the moment they sense me watching they wibble off together, cackling and quackling together, reminding me again of kids in a playground and making me very happy I don’t have to be the killjoy Mum and call an end to it all.

Welcome to your new home, Indie and Chip Chip, Felicity is more than made up.

And us humans? Right now, at this very moment and only for now (these moments are fleeting and I’m making the most of it), I feel I may just have all my ducks in a row.

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