A quick update on our wounded duck. After a quiet night, Papa found Jemima waddling around the kitchen quacking loudly. Her injury seemed to hamper her but slightly, and so to her great joy, he returned her to the rest of the flock. They in turn began honking and quacking at the top of their voices creating quite a din. In thanks for the tender care, Jemima left us a beautiful white egg in her grass nest.
Our concern over the fox's return has made us overly cautious perhaps, but keeping the flock in the cow's old pen may make winter quartering easier for us. Joe doesn't seem too concerned about the fox - he thinks that Will's heroic effort in rescuing Jemima has made old Mr. Tod think twice about returning. But I have noticed an almost erie absence of a very large flock of turkeys that used to daily roam the back property line. Coincidence? Only time will tell.
Will and Edmund have taken it upon themselves to "walk the ducks and geese" everday for exercise. They have great fun leading the geese and ducks to the small pond for a swim. After today's heavy rain the streams are swollen to overflowing, and the birds - and boys - had a blast. Both boys were soaked to the skin, and had to deposit their sodden, muddy clothes on the porch and run nearly naked (Mom, don't look!) to the shower.
Friday, November 20, 2009
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
A Visit From Mr. Tod
Our busy morning was interrupted today by a visit from our local fox. The boys heard the geese making a ruckus out back near the blackberry bushes. Will ran to the back window just in time to see a large, red fox snatch one of our ducks and take off for the woods. With adrenaline pumping, he jumped out the back kitchen door - a good 6-foot drop - landed on his feet, and began sprinting after the thief. The rest of us exited the house by various exits and letting up a great hue and cry, chased that old fox until he let go of his prey. The frightened duck hobbled toward us, and we were glad to see that the only wound appeared to be on her right leg. Joey said that the duck had been flapping her wings furiously, and this may have prevented the fox from getting a good hold on her.
We brought her in, and while Edmund and Will rounded up the rest of the birds (all of whom had scattered in a dozen different directions in their fright), and prepared a box for the injured duck, Joey helped me clean the bloody wound and apply some antibiotic ointment. The duck is now resting as comfortably as possible in a box in the kitchen. She is eating and drinking and making sure that the curious cats know their place. But, I watch her with a pessimistic eye.
Our many attempts at nursing helpless, wounded animals seems to end in more sadness than joy. Two hens succumbed this past summer to various injuries - one from a dog attack, another, we think, from the angry rooster. All I can tell the boys is that we tried to make their last hours as comfortable as possible, and like good masters buried them with the dignity they deserve as God's simple creatures. It is never easy.
We have had encounters with foxes in the past. When we first moved here, our chickens ran free for lack of fence. We began noticing trails of feathers and missing birds about a month into our residency. For three days in a row, one hen was culled from the flock - one even at 2 o'clock in the afternoon right outside our door. I began to fear for the kids, and wouldn't let them outside without Laddie .
One afternoon I looked out the kitchen window and saw a fox attacking our rooster. With a shout, I let Laddie out the door and he chased the culprit away. The rooster however was badly injured, suffering deep wounds to his neck which later infected. He died two days later. He must have put up a valiant fight - I have witnessed the protective nature of a rooster many times. We speedily erected a fence around the coop. The next day the fox came again, this time to find the hens safe and secure behind chicken wire. Perplexed, he lay down in the back field and stared for at least a half an hour at those hens. One can only imagine what was going through his small and devious mind. If I had Beatrix Potter's wonderful imagination, perhaps I would write a story...
We brought her in, and while Edmund and Will rounded up the rest of the birds (all of whom had scattered in a dozen different directions in their fright), and prepared a box for the injured duck, Joey helped me clean the bloody wound and apply some antibiotic ointment. The duck is now resting as comfortably as possible in a box in the kitchen. She is eating and drinking and making sure that the curious cats know their place. But, I watch her with a pessimistic eye.
Our many attempts at nursing helpless, wounded animals seems to end in more sadness than joy. Two hens succumbed this past summer to various injuries - one from a dog attack, another, we think, from the angry rooster. All I can tell the boys is that we tried to make their last hours as comfortable as possible, and like good masters buried them with the dignity they deserve as God's simple creatures. It is never easy.
We have had encounters with foxes in the past. When we first moved here, our chickens ran free for lack of fence. We began noticing trails of feathers and missing birds about a month into our residency. For three days in a row, one hen was culled from the flock - one even at 2 o'clock in the afternoon right outside our door. I began to fear for the kids, and wouldn't let them outside without Laddie .
One afternoon I looked out the kitchen window and saw a fox attacking our rooster. With a shout, I let Laddie out the door and he chased the culprit away. The rooster however was badly injured, suffering deep wounds to his neck which later infected. He died two days later. He must have put up a valiant fight - I have witnessed the protective nature of a rooster many times. We speedily erected a fence around the coop. The next day the fox came again, this time to find the hens safe and secure behind chicken wire. Perplexed, he lay down in the back field and stared for at least a half an hour at those hens. One can only imagine what was going through his small and devious mind. If I had Beatrix Potter's wonderful imagination, perhaps I would write a story...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
