Lake like puddles are forming on our drive with the miserable proportions of rains we’ve had this week. The are is one good thing about having puddles and that is the special visitors that pop by that might not otherwise do. It’s always nice to see them making themselves at home although it tends to be a short lived visit when they are spotted by the bassets.
Nevertheless who would deprive a duck a puddle to paddle in?
I certainly wouldn’t and kept the dogs inside whilst this chap had a good wash and did a few laps around the puddle. His lady friend seemed much more intent on taking a rest on somewhere nice and soft, like my still to be distributed bark chippings.
The trouble with these ducks are that they are truly wild. Nothing like the ones I get to photograph in the park. These are altogether much more timid and likely to be unsettled if I get too close to where they are.
I need to be quieter and smoother next time to avoid this.
Can’t really blame them for not hanging around. It’s a shame though, they are such wonderful characters. Perhaps I should start farming ducks along with my chickens, rabbits, goats, pigs and other menagerie of animals I’d like to keep. It is of course a long way off as we’d need a lot more infrastructure in place to be able to bring more animals and birds to live with us. These things always sound like a nice idea until you work out everything you’ve got to do to keep them safe and healthy.
Whether ducks for our table become a feature in the future I’m content to welcome the ones that the rain seem to bring in.
I had to sympathise with the rabbit stew disappointment. Somebody gave me a (skinned and cleaned) hare which stayed in my freezer until I eventually put in the bin. When we first moved to the country we tried to be very rural and eat our own home grown cockrels. Peter did the deed and I plucked and skinned. It certainly wasn’t worth it. I refused to hang the birds to make them tender and despite long slow cooking they were as tough as old boots. It’s not really surprising when you realise that the chicken you buy in the supermarket is a 12 week old super fast growing pullet. If left to grow to adulthood they are too heavy for their legs and the bones break! There are times when I really wish I was a vegetarian but where would you draw the line? I comprimise by only buying free range or British farm chicken.