Happy Farm

When I was a child, I used to fantasize about living on a farm. All the animals would be peaceful, there would be no butchering or eating of livestock, and any animal that showed up would be welcome. I would call it "Happy Farm". I still remember the shock I felt when I realized that "Happy Farm" is an often used euphemism for "insane asylum".

And it is so appropriate for my house now.

Yes, the herewegoagains are insane. We now have five dogs (counting Perfect Daughter's imperfect Chihuahua who is a semi-permanent boarder), two cats, two caged birds and...nine ducks.

The dogs have already made it pretty crazy around here. The Aussie likes to chase the cattle in the pasture next door, usually coming home after getting the back end of things (you don't want to know and words aren't enough to describe. It does involve a bath, however). The Chihuahuas yip and bark and squeal and need to be on leashes when they go outside because they are too stupid not to know that any ol' bird in the sky will eat them for lunch, not to mention all the other wild critters that lurk on our acreage (Mr. Fox comes to mind). The *cats like to puke all over my car, then preen themselves on top of it. They find lizards especially tasty....just not the heads, apparently. The birds are a big mess in Sweet Girl's room...loud, spitty things that say nothing intelligible and like to make sure we are ALL up bright and early. Oh, and did you know cockatiels can live THIRTY-SEVEN years? Jasper is up to 17 this Christmas and still looks...young.

The poodle was the latest dog acquirement. We got her like this: driving INNOCENTLY down a street in town, we saw a little dog run out in the middle of the road. We stopped to pick her up and take her to her home. As soon as we picked up the little bag of bones encased in a three foot long mess of mats and fleas, with no collar-- we realized we had a stray on our hands. Oh well, we decided...we could just clean her up and "foster" her. Surely someone would want her! The only problem with that plan is that once any animal steps foot(s) at my "Happy Farm", they are here for life. As she is now.

So, when the ducks showed up, I can't say I was excited. They are an odd group. A "mother" who is only slightly larger than her eight adolescents. They walk around and around our house, eating the fruit from the trees, causing great commotion among the dog pack, and pooping in every imaginable place they can. DH has forbidden me to write about poop and vomit, and whoops, I just did (see "*cats" above). The day the ducks showed up was two days before a garden party was planned for Perfect Daughter's perfect (we hope) passage of the Texas Bar. I had 40 people coming to sit in my yard, eat barbeque, and swim in the pool. I really wasn't excited about them slipping in duck p**p. I wasn't too thrilled about the ducks milling about under people's tables, pecking at their manicures. I actually had a panicky moment about the pool...and ducks...and kids...and....poop.

I decided to get rid of them. I felt horrible, but it had to happen. I decided...to let loose....Pip. He is my Aussie and while he is a "shepherd", he generally pounces on small things and terrifies them, rather than protect them from wolves. He raced out the door, leaping and barking. I was worried for about 10 seconds he would actually hurt one of the flock, but hopeful that they might take flight (as birds do, right?) and head south or something. No such luck. They looked at him, ruffled their feathers, hissed a bit, and waddled off. At second glance we noticed something blond waddling along with them. My Chihuahua had gotten out and joined the flock. Hmmmm. Somehow, she fit right in.

SO, the ducks liked the dogs. The dogs now seem to like them, except for the bouts (usually at 7 a.m.) of wild barking when the flock cruises past the sliders to the back porch. Of course, that's not so unusual, since my particular pack of dogs barks like that at oh, ANYONE who walks into a room five minutes after leaving it. (They do, however, never hear the FedEx guy to warn me to change out of jammies when the doorbell rings).

At the barbeque, the little kids were sort of enthralled by the ducks. My sister kept asking me worriedly if "they were tame"? Huh? How did I know? I didn't want them, raise them, or know them. They seem tame. How vicious can a duck be? At one point, Pip made a great show of leaping at them and for a second time stood still as I pondered the mental anguish and scarring caused by toddlers seeing a duck eaten before their eyes. But, Pip being Pip, it was all show and no bite, and he soon wandered back to look for dropped brisket.

And today? I went to the pool to turn on the pump. Followed by nine ducks. I watered all my potted plants. Followed by nine ducks. I did my wasp-killing ritual, and the ducks leapt to eat the poisoned wasps as if I was showering them with candy from a pinata...I shooed them away, but I think they came back and snagged a few. I'm thinking that can't be good for them, but what to do?

I left them staring through the sliders at me as I went inside. Then, I decided to clean the garage. I opened the big door to sweep it out and as I opened it, 18 duck eyes looked at me and they RUSHED me. OK, they are fast little waddlers...considering they don't seem to fly. They were after the cat food, the dead spiders, the living wasps and my toes. I could hardly stem the flood of feathers that happily swirled into the garage. I did have more than ahem, dirt, to sweep out when all was said and done.

Obviously, I can never open the garage door again. Well, my car was getting tired of being the cat's throne (in more ways than one), so it's O.K.

Sweet Girl, has, of course...named them. Rowdy is, of course, mad at them and their poop. DH is 100 percent sure that the twilight bark is all about sending animals to OUR house (and it's somehow my fault), and I? I am starting to like them.

Lucky Ducks.