You may remember that a few months ago one of our ducks was attacked by a fox. Although she survived, she has not been "right," ever since. The ducks are named Bill, Blanche and Bianca, (a nod to cousin Karen who came up with this fun triad.) I have given Bianca the new nick name of "Fox Bait," and have worried about her. On several occasions we have wondered if we should put her down. She eats, drinks, hangs out in the pool but does not go out exploring in the pasture with the other two ducks, choosing, instead, to settle in by the fence where she can watch the others while she rests. I have asked other livestock owning friends their opinions. "Should I kill her?" They both observed a while and said, "No. Give it time."
Last week we had some fine days after rain, and the low spot in the pasture that we fondly refer to as "puddle pond" has been holding water. It has been frequented by crows, getting drinks and taking splashy baths. Friday two of the ducks discovered the water and spent hours paddling and splashing. When I went out before dusk to make sure the chickens and ducks had food in their bowls for an evening meal I was overjoyed to note that all three ducks were making their way back from the puddle. Yesterday morning when I let them out of their snug coop I watched as all three made the trek back out. Fox Bait was lagging behind, but making steady progress.
I stood and watched as she struggled along, heaving herself over the uneven ground.
I let out a little cheer when she hit the water and pushed off, paddling like a champ.
Meanwhile, I have tied blaze orange bandanas around the necks of the goats and donkeys to prevent hunters from mistaking them for the elusive White Tailed Deer this season. Two of the donkeys have lost theirs, and today I will go hike around the pasture until I find them. Jezebel greeted me yesterday with this wardrobe malfunction.
She was perfectly calm, but walked determinedly right up to me and stood patiently while I tucked it back under her chin and tightened it up a bit. It seemed she was saying, "Excuse me, madam. Could you and your opposable thumbs lend me some assistance?"
It is mere days until Thanksgiving, and as I prepare to cook the annual feast I was happily reminded of holidays past. My friend Angel sent me this picture of our old house in Memphis.
We met when she and her family moved in across the street from this dear house. She has since moved away, too, but was passing through on a visit and kindly shared this with me. I had a love affair with this house from the first day I laid eyes on it. High ceilings, a beautiful stone fireplace in the dining room, big, sunny windows and a floor plan that begged for parties to happen. We had some memorable Thanksgiving celebrations there. Rachel was young, and she and the other kids would take an old quilt I made outside and spread it on the lawn. They would fill their plates up with turkey, gravy and all the yummy side dishes, and have happy picnics on the lawn while the adults ate indoors. I was pleased to note that the arbor I planted at the end of the walkway is still there. I spent many a happy hour puttering gratefully in the gardens there.
I am reminded of all the Thanksgivings I have planned and prepared over the past 36 years. The locations have varied, but the flavor has remained the same. Bring on the bird, the sage and the stuffing. This Thanksgiving is bound to be delicious.
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