Duck | jmgoyder

Good old Godfrey

by jmgoyder

As mentioned before, we have a gander called Godfrey who is like the Godfather and looks after the rest of the gaggle. He is so overprotective of the younger geese that he often bites me, but I adore him. I love the way he has such a proud stance.

He first starting getting bitey with me when we got our first Sebastopol gosling, Pearl, and, not long after, our two Pilgrims, Ola and Seli, and then two more Sebastopols, Diamond and little Woodroffe. When it came time to let these little ones out of their brooder near the Aga, and introduce them to Godfrey, it was fascinating to see him bend his substantial neck down and almost kiss them, making a soft, keening noise. He didn’t respond to the baby ducks or turkeys like this at all – just to the goslings – and from that day onward, they became his property. Except for the fact that he doesn’t like me coming near them, it’s rather lovely. Also, if my nieces or nephews visit, I have to watch him carefully as you can see from this picture taken when they were little.

The gaggle are almost his size now but he is still just as protective and sometimes becomes ferocious. The following is one of my favourite pictures of him. However, it is also the reason I am putting off going out to feed the gang – I am getting sick of him biting me and me having to kick out to defend myself. It ruins the late afternoon ambience somehow and it’s tricky because the rest of the gang surround me lovingly (well, greedily because I have food) while Godfrey tries to amputate both my legs at once.

I am going to try something new in a minute and just focus on him. Wish me luck!

Wings

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Avian antics

by jmgoyder

I didn’t mean to chop this turkey’s head off in the photo, however yesterday evening I wanted to do it literally because Bubble got trapped behind a fence and Son and I had to herd him into our garden and back to the yard. Okay, to explain – both of our original turkeys are named Bubble. This one is obviously a male because he is much bigger than the other Bubble who, at the time of this ridiculous incident, was already in the yard with Baby Turkey and the gang. Now the reason I describe this situation as ‘ridiculous’ is because I don’t understand why this Bubble had to be herded when he can fly!

It’s as if he wanted to do it the hard way, rather than the easy way – or perhaps he just lacks commonsense. I understand both, I guess, as I often choose the more difficult route unintentionally due to an innate (it would seem) inability to see the commonsense solution.

The most ironic thing is that, once Bubble was in the yard with the gang, he flew straight into the adjacent emu yard anyway! The Emerys love him because he stops Baby Turkey from giving them nightmares.

And then Tapper did her evening indecision dance. She perches on top of the fence between the gang’s yard and the Indian Runner’s yard, as if to say, “Which one of you guys wants me most?” This flirtatiousness has given her a rather bad reputation so, in the end, she usually just flies out of all of the yards and goes back to the bath to meditate.

And poor King peacock now hides in the avocado tree because he is (I assume) so embarrassed that his feather aren’t growing back as quickly as was expected, so now all of the adolescent peacocks are surpassing him.

Husband’s nursing lodge is in ‘lockdown’ at the moment due to a virus outbreak so, even though I have snuck in a couple of times, I’ve been told not to visit, or bring him home, until it is safe. Apparently tomorrow it will be ‘all clear’ again. In the meantime, Son’s post-surgery convalescence is having its ups and downs.

Last night I dreamed I was a bird – just a tiny bird, the size of a sparrow – and I was flying over this farm and our house trying to shed my little leftover feathers onto all of the things that needed fixing, but I couldn’t because my feathers were made of steel. My wings got more and more cement-like and, eventually, I fell to the ground.

Perhaps I need to get a non-Avian hobby – hehe!

Family Wings

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Daffy duck

by jmgoyder

I have spent copious amounts of time (well over my usual 15 minutes!) researching what kind of duck Disney’s Daffy was/is, all to no avail. Unless I’m wrong – which is quite possible – Daffy is not one particular breed or another; Daffy Duck is (just) a duck.

The reason I embarked on these minutes of research is because our male Indian Runner duck reminds me of Daffy.

For this reason I have decided to call this duck (drake I should say!) ‘Daffy’. Until now, he and his ‘wife’ haven’t had names because they only just escaped being obliterated by the fox that killed the other Indian runners, so I have always just call them both ‘Duckies’. I didn’t want to name them in case I lost them – I hope that makes sense!

Daffy is the one I rescued from the fox the morning of the massacre. The fox had already killed several chooks and ducks and it had its jaws around Daffy’s neck when I ran out and scared it away. Now Daffy can’t quack properly. His wife, who I think I will now call ‘Dotty’ (not to be derogatory, but they are actually not the most intelligent of breeds!) is never far from his side. Here they are venturing into the ‘bath’ after everyone else is finished. The other ducks and geese will have nothing to do with the Indian runners. I don’t know why although, as I’ve mentioned before, Daffy does occasionally exert a bit of surprisingly fierce amourosity towards the Sebastapol geese. I wish I could get a photo of Godfrey chasing Daffy chasing Diamond but it’s always short-lived with Daffy well and truly banished to the outskirts!

Daffy and Dotty are so intimidated by Godfrey and the rest of ‘the gang’ that they live completely separate lives; they even have a separate pen because Godfrey is so horrible to them. When I let them all out in the morning, the gang follow me for the lettuce treats but Daffy and Dotty go in the opposite direction because they are so scared of Godfrey!

Hence, I am unable to hand feed these lovely Indian Runners unless Godfrey isn’t looking; it has to be quite secretive.

I will try their new names out today!

Wings

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Afternoon delight

by jmgoyder

I usually go out to the back yard at around 4-5pm to put the ducks, geese and turkeys into their yards for the night. The chickens all sleep in the trees now, just like the guinnea fowl and peacocks; they have learned the hard way to be scared of the foxes.

The gang all head to their yard of their own accord. They are much more routine-orientated than I am, so sometimes I find them waiting patiently inside the yard and, when I arrive with lettuce, they make a lot of noise and I’m never sure if they’re saying ‘oh, goody, lettuce’ or ‘well, it’s about time!’ I think it’s probably the latter.

The three Indian runner ducks are a bit more difficult to round up. They still don’t seem to understand that they are in danger from foxes and they run away from me in that Basil Fawlty way that is both funny and frustrating. I have to put them in a separate yard from the gang because the male duck keeps trying to flirt (that is an understatement) with the female geese.

Once the ducks, geese and turkeys are all settled in their yards, I sit down at one of the adjacent picnic tables and have a drink while I feed the chooks. Sometimes I am joined by a particularly friendly peacock. No, he’s not really interested in the beer; he wants to steal some of the chook food!