Thursday, 7 October 2010

my duck is a duck

saxonysI realise that to many people, this may be self-evident.


I am very excited; I thought it was sure to be a drake, as I had only the one hatch and when that happens, the Law Of Sod dictates that it is, invariably, a single male. So, I spent £20 on an Alleged Duck from someone up the road.

At twelve weeks old, the Alleged Duck's girl-feathers all fell out and it became obvious that it was a boy. The person up the road was very embarrassed - it was the first time they had hatched this particular breed - Saxonys - too. And I was even more certain that my own duck would be a boy.

(Am I getting the distinction clear here between ducks and Ducks? Do stop me if you want me to clarify.)

So. We have waited. And over the last three days, all my duck's feather's have been replaced with it's proper grown-up feathers. And it is a Duck!

I have a PAIR of ducks. I am so un-utterably happy it's ridiculous. Since I was seventeen one of my ambitions on my laminated list has been to Keep Ducks. And so, for my fortieth birthday in May, I bought some duck eggs to hatch. And now, I have a matched pair of ducks.

I get an inordinate amount of pleasure from simply sitting watching them poddle around doing their Duck Thing. Dibbling. Dabbling. Puddling. You know. Lots of 'ing words.

On that note, I'm going to bed. Nenna's suffering from the change in routine of B being away and sleep is a bit random. Hers and mine. Leo, it appears, could sleep through a banshee - and often does.

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