My Ugly Duckling

A while back I mentioned a duck coming off her nest with six ducklings. There are two left. *sigh* I was hoping the last two would make it without insult or injury but like everything else around here, it wasn't destined to be. One of the ducklings is doing great but the other suffered a broken leg. I knew the little thing didn't stand a chance so I caught it and brought it into the house hoping it might have a chance to heal before becoming some predator's supper.

I set up the playpen I use during kidding season. It takes a lot of newspapers to soak up a duck's mess. Not to mention the fact that they smell horrible. Add some antibiotics to the mix and with the ensuing shits... OMG!!! You can hear the shit squirt from the next room. Before you can find a safe place to hide, the odor climbs over you like a thousand fire ants blinding you with pain that you can never imagine unless you have actually had the meat ripped out of your nasal passages with a dull deer antler. Nevertheless, I did the best I could, holding my breath and cleaning the little bastard two or three times daily until I totally ran out of newspapers. I sort of felt good about that but immediately felt guilty for feeling good about it. I need opiates. Then I wouldn't care about a motherfucking thing.

It didn't take long before I discovered the leg was broken in the joint and was knitting back at an awkward angle. Once I ran out of newspapers to line the playpen with, I asked Hubby to take the duckling out and put it down. I really couldn't imagine the little thing having any kind of quality life at all. It didn't work out quite the way I wanted it to. Instead of cracking the duckling's neck, Hubby took the 22 rifle with him. d'oh. He set the duckling down and before he could come around with the rifle, little duckling had run off and disappeared. I wasn't thrilled with that because I've gotten totally sick of the little things being eaten by the bigger things. Little duck was nowhere to be found.

Several days passed and I was certain the duckling had been ripped to shreds by a critter with nasty, pointy teeth when lo and behold, I went to feed the chickens and there it was trying it's best to get into the coop with the laying hens. There are a few ducks in there as well so I thought maybe they would accept the little one. I crashed through the underbrush and fought my way through the briers for nearly half and hour before I finally got my hands on the (enter many expletives) duckling. If it hadn't gotten it's crooked leg stuck in the chicken wire I never would have caught it. I put it with the Mama Duck who has been setting NO eggs all summer hoping that maybe she would think her five months of diligent setting on absolutely nothing had finally paid off. She seemed to be fine with it but that evening the little one was gone again.

Later I found it with it's mother. She didn't want it around at all. I understand where she's coming from. She's worried about protecting the healthy duckling and doesn't want the deformed one around. I can't blame her for that. It's nature's way. Still, that little duckling has fought so hard to survive I can't help but want to help it. Despite it's crooked leg, the little sucker can move pretty damn fast. If I can ever get my hands on it I will do the same thing I did with the last duckling I had to care for (which by the way is huge and beautiful). Maybe if I can protect it until it gets big enough to hold it's own with the older ducks it will be OK. But, I've got to catch the little shit first.

Is there a patron saint for ugly ducklings? I should put him/her on speed dial.


Update... Little ugly duckling has reconciled with her mother and all is well in ducky land. I love it when good things happen.

Getting Started

I've been wanting to start a blog for a very long time. It isn't that I have that much to say all the time but once in a while I do. When that happens I find that since I spend most of my time alone I wish I had someplace to say it. My sweet daughter in law has helped me start this blog and now anyone who happens to stumble into this mess will feel obligated to read it because who doesn't want to know about beer and mules?

Yes, I drink beer. I love good beer. Only crazy people don't like good beer! I can make sailors cover their ears when I go on a cussing rampage and I ride a beautiful molly mule named Sunday who I love with all my heart. I live with dogs, chickens, goats, a rescue pony (Tinker, my handsome boyfriend) and a pet pig called Tess. She's a cutie. And I'm married but we don't have to talk about that do we?

I am currently visiting with my children in California where I don't live but often wish I did. When I return home to North Carolina and back to my normal day to day routine I will get this blog rolling with pictures of the critters and my grandnieces who stay with me several days a week. Doesn't that tickle you shitless?