For
several years, we have raised chickens and enjoyed their company,
eggs, and insect eradication quite a bit. Last winter, my husband
suddenly thought, “Let's raise ducks, too. How different can it
be?”
Well,
four ducks later, I can tell you: VERY DIFFERENT.
Our
chickens (Plymouth Rocks and Araucana) are analogous to quiet,
diffident librarians, delicately “sipping tea and nibbling scones”
in a warm, dry place, before going to bed early.
By
contrast, the ducks (harlequins) are like big footed, gangly, noisy,
messy teenagers, who strew their stuff all around, taking up space, spewing food and water everywhere, and wanting to stay up all night. When my husband first flew
them to our property, in a tall pet carrier, I thought they were
geese - they seemed so large.
Ducks leaving the lake, heading home |
The
woman in Palmer, AK, from whom we bought them, asked us to take a
mating pair together, whom we named Mr. and Mrs. But because Mr.
bonks the other two females with equal frequency
(on land, in the snow or holding their heads under water – it doesn't matter), I can't say
that I have observed any of the fidelity so famous in swans and loons.
The other females we named Dora (because she was always the early explorer)
and Daylate (which in retrospect is not well deserved, but at first,
she always seemed “a day late and a dollar short”).
I found
that raising ducks involved both “good news” and “bad news” -
at least in our setting.