My poor, confused farm animals. Part 1

Remember the little white duckling that my dear husband brought home so many months ago? I searched until I found its soul mate in the form of a beautiful black duckling.  The two were meant for each other and are attached at the hip.  We  assumed that the black duck was the male because the nice woman at the duck store told us that his quack was deep and that meant he was a male. The white duck seemed to quack in a higher pitch so we have assumed that she was the female.  We were wrong. 
OK, do you also remember how the little white duckling was confused when she was a sweet little fluffy thing and thought she was a chicken?  Of course you do, my dear husband had to sing to her his version of "you're not a chicken, you're a duck."  Well, we thought she understood her place in the world after his song.  We were wrong.
It turns out that our sweet little duckling is actually the male (we still don't know what the black duck is, we do know he is a duck but as to his gender...that is still questionable).  How do we know the little white duck is a male?  Well, he has taking a liking to the hens. That's right, he prefers the cute chickens over his duck mate. I found this out while I was eating lunch a few days ago.  There I sat, enjoying my lunch and watching the serenity of the farm life.  Next thing I knew, the chickens started squawking, the goats were running around looking like they were on high alert for a predator, the pig made her usual high pitched squeal that I am sure will break glass some day.  As I watched, one of our poor hens was being "loved on" by that white duck.  For those of you who have ever seen ducks mate, you know how brutal it looks, it looks even more brutal when it is happening between a duck and a chicken.  Alarmed, I immediately ran to the internet to find out why my duck would take a fancy to the hens.
Of course, the internet is never a source of good news.  I found out that with their different anatomy, my poor hens could die if I let the behavior continue.  I now have 3 options:
1.  Get a rooster.  Apparently, the rooster will show the duck who is boss and keep the barnyard species in order.  Cons: I will have a rooster.
2.  Separate the ducks from the rest of the animals.  Cons: I don't have anywhere else to put the ducks. I tried putting them in the garden after witnessing the first assault but they quickly escaped.  They have since been locked up in their coop but that is not a permanent solution.
3.  According to my internet sources there are little apron type clothes I can make for the hens that will prevent the duck from doing any damage.  Cons: My chickens will be wearing clothes.
Surely there must be another solution that my city brain cannot find.  Please someone, somewhere give me the answer!

Something Is Bugging Me

Wanting to have organic eggs from our hens, we buy them organic chicken feed. This is not easy to do.  There are 2 stores in the area that sell organic hen feed. One is about 1/2 hour from my house and the other is about an hour away.  One would think I would prefer going to the store closest to my house but I am afraid of the cashier so I choose to go to the store an hour away.  OK, why am I afraid of the cashier?  She is mean.  Here is an almost verbatim conversation I had with her when I bought my first bag of feed there:

Me: After looking around the store and not seeing organic chicken feed anywhere, I approach the register and ask if they carry organic feed.
Cashier: "Ya."
Me: "Where can I find it?"
Cashier: "Duh! The feed room!"  Said with lots of attitude and sarcasm.
Me: "Pretend that I have never been here and don't know where or what the feed room is, actually don't pretend because I have never been here and don't know what or where the feed room is."
Cashier: Rolling her eyes.."Like, it's behind me and out the back."
Me: "OK, so can I just walk to the feed room and buy the feed there."
Cashier: Rolling her eyes..."Like, noooo.  You buy it here then get it from the feed room, duh."
Me:  Attempting to not throttle the girl..."Well, I would like to buy some organic feed then."
Cashier: Stares at me and says nothing.
Me:  Stare back and wonder if I am on Candid Camera.
Cashier:  "Well,  like, how much do you want?"
Me:  "How much do you have? What are the options? Do you have a list?"
Cashier:  Looking at me like I am the biggest idiot she has ever met, slowly pulls a list from the register and hands it to me while rolling her eyes.
Me: "I'll take a 25 pound bag." 
Cashier:  Moves to a different stool, pulls out a nail file and starts filing her nails.
Me:  Wondering if I should slowly back out of the store.
A nice young man walks to the register and asks if I have been helped yet.
I am not sure how to answer this question.
Me: "I would like a 25 pound bag of organic feed."
Cashier: Rings me up and tells me to pull my car around back to have the feed loaded.  This is new information.
I do not want to go back to this store for what I hope are obvious reasons.  So, I drive an hour every few months to buy chicken feed (I now buy 50 pound bags so I don't have to drive as often).

OK, so I drive to my hour away feed store and buy my 50 pound bag of organic feed.  Drive an hour home, open the back of my car and discover the bag completely covered in mites, along with the entire back of my car.  I triple bag the feed and haul it to the curb.  I call the store and explain the situation to them, they agree that they don't want the feed back in their store and tell me to come back the next day and they will give me a new bag.  I then hurry to the industrial car vacuum place and spend an hour thoroughly cleaning my car to make sure there are no mites.
The next day, I drive an hour back to the feed store.  I ask the to open the bag before loading it into my car and discover that not only is it full of mites but also infested with at least 3 other types of insects.  The guy who opened the bag looks squeamish and quickly drops the bag.  He tells me that was their last bag of organic feed and it must be because of the drought that they are infested.  OK.
My poor chickens have now been without feed for 3 days so I drive to the dreaded store 1/2 hour from my house.  Hooray! The mean cashier is not there.  Instead is a very nice 4H looking kind of kid that is very helpful.  I explain about the mites and he tells me that the feed he buys for his beef (that's right, not his cattle or cows or bovine, but his beef) often has mites and to lay it out in the sun for a few days to kill the mites.  I wonder how on earth I am suppose to lay 50 pounds of feed out in the sun without every bird in the neighborhood devouring it but decide not to ask because I don't want to appear ignorant in this country store that already intimidates me. 
We inspect the feed together and find it to be mite and bug free.  I also buy some food for the pig.
I get home, feed the chickens who don't seem all that hungry.  My 13 year old opens the pig food and screams.  It is full of weavels.  I know all about weavels.  A few years after being married, my husbands' wonderful and sweet grandmother came to our house for a visit.  She decided to bake and when she opened my bag of flour, discovered it full of weavels.  She showed it to me and explained that I should never bake with weavels (trust me, I wasn't planning on it).  I was too embarassed to tell her that the bag of flour was 4 years old.
Well, I call the feed store to explain the situation.  The man answers the phone with a deep Texas drawl and a "Howdy."  I tell him about the weavels and he says nothing.  I then ask what time they close so I can exchange the bag.  He says "Huh... you want to return the feed?"  I tell him, "Well, I did want to return the feed. All the way up to the point where you said 'huh.' Now I am not so sure what I am suppose to do."  He is silent so I hang up.  I return to the store with the pig food full of weavels.  A different 4H looking kid is there and happily exchanges the bag for me.  He goes on to tell me it must be full of bugs because of the drought.  OK.  I ask him to open the bag and I dig through it as far as possible and find it to be weavel free.
I return home, the 13 year old opens the bag and screams again.  I look inside.......yup.....full of weavels. 
I give up and tell him the protein will be good for the pig but to feed her outside.
The next day the 13 year old informs me that all of the weavels inside the bag have died. 
Must be the drought.

The case of the missing chicken

I am happy to report that all animals who are meant to live outside are now living outside. This includes: goats, chickens, ducks, rabbits. My 3 year old son has fallen in love with the silkie chick. When he goes outside, the silkie chick is in the child's arms for hours. Silkie goes with the 3 year old down the slide, on the swings, to feed the goats, in the tractor. Pretty much wherever the 3 year old goes, the silkie is forced to go as well.  When the 3 year old decides he needs to perform some important task alone, he will put the silkie inside the clubhouse to be retrieved later.  Amazingly, the silkie stays in the clubhouse until the 3 year old returns. The clubhouse has open windows and the silkie should easily be able to escape but my theory is that the silkie is too exhausted from all the play to think of exiting the clubhouse. 
A few nights ago, I went outside to close up the henhouse and put the various other animals in their proper habitats. The silkie beds down for the night with another small chicken in their own special cage (the teenage chickens are still being bully's to the little chickens so the little chicks can't go on the big henhouse just yet). The silkies' buddy was in his cage but the silkie was nowhere to be found.  Uh oh, my thoughts immediately went to the skunk that I had seen in the backyard one morning or the fox we saw chasing some deer the previous night.  Knowing that the 3 year old would be devastated, my family began a massive search for the silkie.  Foolishly calling it's name (it is my husband's chicken and he named it Dookie), the chicken has not yet appeared to know it's name but it is what we naturally do when a living thing is missing.  My husband and 10 year old took the massive searchlight and drove around the neighborhood looking for the silkie.  I and the 13 year old searched the yard many times but couldn't find the poor bird.  I eventually realized that if it were in the yard, it would have gone into the cage with it's buddy since they never separate from each other.  The 3 year old was asleep so we were glad that at least he didn't have to be stressed about the fate of the bird. 
I went to bed trying to figure out how I could find another silkie the same size and color before the 3 year old figured out that his beloved friend was missing.  I concocted a plan of a morning spent running errands that just happen to include stopping by the silkie lady's house and hoping that she would have one that matched the missing bird.  Knowing this plan would most likely not work, I started thinking about possibly finding a book that would handle the emotions of a young child with a missing pet.  Knowing there probably isn't a book that addresses missing chickens, I then started planning in my head the book I would need to write, illustrate and print.  No, I did not get much sleep that night.
I awoke the next morning and heard the 13 year old ask the 3 year old, "Do you know where Dookie is?"  I jumped out of bed, ran down the hall trying to decide how to handle the situation when I heard the 3 year old say "Oh sure, I'll get him."  He then walked to the free standing armoire that is just outside my bedroom door, open it up and retrieved the chicken from the bottom shelf.  He then explained, "I put him away last night and told him to stay quiet and I would get him in the morning!" 
The case of the missing chicken was solved. I only had to clean one chicken dropping off the shelf and learned that next time an animal is missing I need to either check with the 3 year old or start opening lots of doors.

The girls won't leave the coop

To follow up on yesterday's posting with the ducks...apparently I have absolutely no sense of size. I thought I had bought a duck that was twice as big as the original duck at home and was worried about the new duck hurting the old duck even though the only purpose of getting the new duck was to give the old duck a friend.  Well, they are the exact same size!  When I saw they were the same size, I happily placed them together thinking all would go well.  It did not go well.  Since old duck has been living with chickens since she was three days old, she thinks she is a chicken. She started pecking new duck mercilessly.  Poor new duck didn't know what was going on, having never been pecked by another duck before.  I told my husband what was going on, since he has more experience with fowl than I do. Husband assessed the situation and immediately began singing. That's right, he sang to the ducks because apparently that is what his fowl experience has taught him. What did he sing? Brace yourselves, it is a good one. Do you remember the song from childhood "Not a chicken Not a duck so I shake my butt..quack quack quack quack?"  If you don't know it, youtube it because it is quite catchy and funny.  Well, to that same tune my dear husband began singing "You're not a chicken you're a duck, you're not a chicken you're a duck, quack quack quack quack."  Over and over he sang this song and amazingly.....it worked!  Old duck stopped pecking new duck. They both just stared at dear husband as if he were a lunatic.  In hindsight, I now realize that his "fowl experience" mainly involves shooting and eating them but hey..it worked!
Now, my chicken woes.  Since the teenage chickens had to be kicked out of the house to make room for the new duck and new chicken we decided to put teenage chickens in their coop outside but not let them out of the coop yet. We wanted them to know that the coop was their home so they would happily march themselves into it each evening and thus prevent us from chasing chickens around the yard at night so they wouldn't be eaten by coyotes, cats, raccoons, etc.  Our strategy worked, a little too well.  The girls refuse to leave the coop.  We open it in the morning, try to gently lead them out (to our 13 year old gently means shaking the coop). I throw food in the yard, talk to them, explain to them. Nothing, those dang birds stay in that coop all day.  While I am glad that they are happy with the coop we chose for them, I want them to be free range.  I don't understand why they choose to not only stay in the coop but in the far back corner of the coop, all huddled together like they are in a prison camp.  This has been going on for a week now.  Maybe I need to get a rooster decoy to lure them out into the yard?  Or I suppose I could send dear husband out there to assess the situation and sing something to them. 

Duck Tales

We recently moved from surburbia to what we lovingly refer to as "our little farm." 2 flat, unrestricted acres...our dream! We are ignoring that the house is old and needs lots and lots of work and the never ending maintenance of upkeeping the place.
Well, we moved in and quickly acquired: 2 rabbits, 6 chickens, 2 goats, one pot bellied pig and 2 kittens.  Here is where the story of our little farming bliss gets complicated. 4 of the chickens were about the same size; small little balls of fluff. I insisted that I just had to have a silkie chick. I love silkies, with their funny little mohawks and fluffy feet. They remind me of little punk clowns.  The problem started when I saw the silkies for sale. There were various sizes and I thought for sure that the smallest chicks were the closest in size to our older chicks at home. I was very, very wrong. They were only about half the size of the older chicks. From past chicken ownership, I knew that the bigger chicks would peck the little chicks until they died so the chicks had to be separated. Now we had 2 sets of various sized chickens to clean up after until they were all old enough to live together peacefully.
No problem. Then one of the silkies died. Not wanting the remaining silkie to be left all alone, I tried unsuccessfully to get it a little friend it's same size. There weren't any little silkies left to be bought.  I tried to find more little chicks its same size but again, no one had little chicks.  So poor little silkie was left alone.
One of my husband's co-workers heard about our silkie plight and decided to help us out. He hatched us a duck and proudly gave it to my husband along with a chicken about the same size as our silkie.  Great! Now silkie chick has a friend.  The new problem is the 3 day old duck with no buddy.  My search for baby ducklings came up empty handed. 
We tried putting the silkie with the new duck and the new chicken. Silkie is a bully and wouldn't stop pecking duckling.  Duckling would hide under new chick like new chick was its mother. It was very sad to watch since new chick wasn't much bigger than duckling but tried its hardest to protect duckling. Well, since silkie seems to be strong enough to bully two roomates we thought she could hold her own with the older chicks.  Perfect solution! Silkie could now live outside in the coop with the older teenage chickens while new chick and duckling live together inside.  We were wrong, the teenage chickens were very very mean to silkie. 
New solution, silkie and new chick live together peacefully but duckling is alone.  The duckling does not like being alone and frequently lets us know by her loud peeping and flapping around her box.  So today, I bought another duck. It is twice as big as duckling but the expert duck lady at the duck selling store assured me that since they are both still young that the bigger duck will not kill duckling.  I have yet to put them together because my husband will not be a happy man if the duckling is killed.  Stay tuned for the ever evolving duck tale:
to recap:
4 chicks, 2 silkies
1 silkie died, 1 silkie left
1 silkie is too small to be left with 4 big chicks
Add 1 more chick and 1 duckling
Now we have 3 teenage chicks outside, 2 pre-teen chicks inside and 1 lonely duckling
Add 1 teenage duck and hope it does not kill lonely duckling
Not wanting any ducks, now I am the owner of 2 ducks and hoping that at least one of them will survive. I never knew raising something as simple as chickens and ducks could be so complicated!