Freaking city folk. What jerks.
Thursday, June 19, 2014
FAIL.
This here is the last time you will be seeing our five little quail because as of this morning, Jack thought it would be "nice" to set their cage outside in the sunshine and fresh air. Apparently it was nice, so nice that they all jumped out and scattered to the four corners of the world. And not together, which is the shitty part. Together, they stand a chance against the mean guys and the cold nights. But they are so young and quick, that they literally all just shot off toward whatever direction they landed. We feel horrible. First, it is possible that we quail-napped them and that mom or dad was a short bush over, watching in horror as these ungainly monsters shoved their babies into a saddle bag (I sincerely hope not, but our country friends have since informed us that this is, sadly, quite probable). Then, we move them to a completely different neighborhood with no low-lying shrubbery, and allow them to run off by themselves into the great unknown.
Freaking city folk. What jerks.
Freaking city folk. What jerks.
Thursday, June 12, 2014
What the Duck?
Well, we found five, day-old ducklings a few days ago while we were out for a ride on our motorcycle, and due to our paralyzing fear that they wouldn't make it through the night without our god-like intervention, we took them home. This brings the total number of animals now living on our modest little farm to 21. Wait, 22. I forgot about the new pig (I'll introduce him in the next post).
Given that we almost killed every single one of them while our hearts were bursting with good intentions, I thought I'd give you a quick what-not-to-do guide to rescuing ducklings.
#1. Wait at LEAST eight minutes before calling it a day and packing them into your motorcycle saddle bag. What the natives have since explained to us is that shit happens in the duck world same as ours. Mom may have gotten held up by an old boyfriend, or maybe dinner took longer than expected. She may have been just down the street but other, less patient ducks kept cutting her off and giving her the finger. To be fair, the little guys came to us and wouldn't venture more than a few feet from our feet, but it's totally possible that they were just out for a bit of fun and knew exactly where they were headed. At the time we seriously doubted it, given that they were roughly the size of the eggs they hatched from and it was almost dark in an area rich in feral cats and coyotes. Still, the guy at the farm supply place mumbled to a co-worker, "Dude, they're wild animals. They'd of figured it out. That's what they do." And then he went on to sell me $74.38 worth of chick raising supplies.
#2. When any creature is one day old, do not set it in a canvas saddle bag with no insulation and proceed to ride 50 mph for 15 minutes in 60 degree weather.
#3. Do not assume that because they are mostly dead and can no longer stand upright, it is because they are hungry. First take into account the harrowing ride they just took, and then google it. Baby ducks don't need to eat for 72 hours after they're born. Shoving their beaks into chicken mush while cheering them on does nothing.
#4. Do not assume that because they are mostly dead they need water. They don't. And since the only problem is that they are nearly frozen to death, setting them down in a lid full of water and dunking their beaks while cheering them on could probably be considered premeditated murder. Or manslaughter if they die. Which thank god they didn't or I would have turned my own self in.
Luckily, that's all we did to the poor souls, and despite it all, they lived. They are right now in their cozy wine box, basking in their brand new heat lamp and cuddling up for the night. Um, except they're not. I can hear them beginning to chirp, and what will follow is an all night party filled with running in circles, jumping on top of each other, and hucking themselves at the walls (I think in search of their mama). I'm not certain, but something tells me this behavior may be pointed at us.
Given that we almost killed every single one of them while our hearts were bursting with good intentions, I thought I'd give you a quick what-not-to-do guide to rescuing ducklings.
#1. Wait at LEAST eight minutes before calling it a day and packing them into your motorcycle saddle bag. What the natives have since explained to us is that shit happens in the duck world same as ours. Mom may have gotten held up by an old boyfriend, or maybe dinner took longer than expected. She may have been just down the street but other, less patient ducks kept cutting her off and giving her the finger. To be fair, the little guys came to us and wouldn't venture more than a few feet from our feet, but it's totally possible that they were just out for a bit of fun and knew exactly where they were headed. At the time we seriously doubted it, given that they were roughly the size of the eggs they hatched from and it was almost dark in an area rich in feral cats and coyotes. Still, the guy at the farm supply place mumbled to a co-worker, "Dude, they're wild animals. They'd of figured it out. That's what they do." And then he went on to sell me $74.38 worth of chick raising supplies.
#2. When any creature is one day old, do not set it in a canvas saddle bag with no insulation and proceed to ride 50 mph for 15 minutes in 60 degree weather.
#3. Do not assume that because they are mostly dead and can no longer stand upright, it is because they are hungry. First take into account the harrowing ride they just took, and then google it. Baby ducks don't need to eat for 72 hours after they're born. Shoving their beaks into chicken mush while cheering them on does nothing.
#4. Do not assume that because they are mostly dead they need water. They don't. And since the only problem is that they are nearly frozen to death, setting them down in a lid full of water and dunking their beaks while cheering them on could probably be considered premeditated murder. Or manslaughter if they die. Which thank god they didn't or I would have turned my own self in.
Luckily, that's all we did to the poor souls, and despite it all, they lived. They are right now in their cozy wine box, basking in their brand new heat lamp and cuddling up for the night. Um, except they're not. I can hear them beginning to chirp, and what will follow is an all night party filled with running in circles, jumping on top of each other, and hucking themselves at the walls (I think in search of their mama). I'm not certain, but something tells me this behavior may be pointed at us.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)