I want to be clear: we did not get the ducks by accident. We got the ducks by listening to a friend.
The friend in question said, with great conviction, “You need Indian Runner Ducks. They walk upright. They eat slugs. They are the best thing you will ever buy.” Kappie wrote it on a sticky note. The sticky note went on the fridge. We did not, immediately, do anything about it.
The first batch was supposed to be Indian Runners.
Then one weekend we drove out to look at what was supposed to be Indian Runners and came home, instead, with four very normal, very loud, very regular ducks. (The Indian Runners were sold out. The other ducks were extremely available.) We were in the truck. We were three hours from home. The other ducks looked at us. We looked at each other. We drove home with four ducks.
You don’t get to choose when you become a duck person. The ducks choose.— Joe, learning
The Golden Girls.
We named them after the only logical group of four:
Blanche — the loud one. Currently campaigning for something. We are not sure what. We do not need to know to support her in this.
Rose — sweet, easily confused, will follow you anywhere as long as you appear to be walking with intent.
Dorothy — watches us with weary patience. Knows what’s up. Is, frankly, the only adult on the property at any given moment.
Sophia — small, opinionated, certain you owe her something. We do not know what we owe her. We are paying it anyway.
They are, all four, terrible singers and excellent at slugs. The garden has not been the same since.
And then, finally, the Indian Runners.
A few months later we found them. The actual Indian Runners. They walk upright, like little startled bowling pins. They look mildly horrified at all times. They have entered the farm with what I can only call a lot of opinions about the path.
We have not named them yet. Names are taking longer than expected. They keep moving when we point at them. The leading candidate is “the new ducks” but I am being told that is not a name.
What we’ve added to the farm because of ducks.
A real splash pool. The first 24 hours were a baking tray. The actual pool was, embarrassingly, an Amazon decision made at 11pm. It is now their favorite place on earth.
A predator-aware coop corner. Kappie built the gate. I did the screws. Dorothy inspected the work. Dorothy approved.
An entirely new appreciation for slugs as a security problem. The ducks have made it clear that slugs are offensive to them personally. The garden has never been healthier.
The future.
We do not, at this time, intend to further expand the duck program. We thought that the first time, too. So we’ll see.
✎ — Joe, from the porch, surrounded