The final batch of ducklings has hatched. Eight wee, perfect, downy creatures. Now all three hen ducks have their clutches of healthy, pretty babies. You might think the drake would be proud. You might think the mama's would be pleased. You would be wrong.
The pasture is rife with strife. Each hen duck wants to molest and torment the other mothers brood.
One duck will race up to the other. The second duck will quack and protest, and her babies will scatter in alarm. Then the first duck will peck at the frantic ducklings, sometimes even picking one up to toss it about with reckless abandon. The air is filled with the angry voices of the mother ducks, and the upset peeping of the poor ducklings. The drake is terribly confused. He goes from hen to hen, unsure of his roll in all of this pandemonium. I have decided that there will be no future ducklings! This is not fun in the slightest.
Fortunately, once in a while one of the hens will find a moment of quietude, away from the others.
Then the scene radiates maternal bliss and loveliness.
They grow at an astonishing rate. The first ducklings hatched June 6th, and are more than half grown already. I need to find them new homes, and fast, so that calm can once again reign at FairWinds.