Mama duck achieves sainthood

That's stretching it a bit.....

But she WILL receive a free-pass of sorts:  a bright red plastic cable-tie (loosely attached) around her ankle, to let me know what a good mother she is and that she gets to live out her life here without taking the dreaded trip to the butcher.  It's a badge of honor, to commemorate the selfless sacrifice of not just a good mother, but a GREAT mother.

This will distinguish her from a few of the other female ducks, who sit steadfastly on their little nests of eggs, only to abandon those babies when they start to hatch.  Last year, that happened twice.  Flighty mother ducks who only want to be back with their friends, after 28 days of sitting on eggs.  Baby ducks out on their own, toddling after any black shape that wanders near, desperate to bond with their absent mother.  Baby ducks huddled in the middle of the barn floor for warmth at night, disappearing one by one.  Some were killed by rats, I'm sure of that.  Some just died because no-one was looking after them.  Last year, that was the sad scenario.  

The lure of fresh grass and clover was more intoxicating than the drudgery of keeping the babies warm, at least for SOME irresponsible duck mothers last summer!  The blame doesn't all go to the mothers, though.  The drakes (male ducks) are quite eager to reclaim their harem when the nesting hormones are no longer raging, and didn't care much for babies keeping those mothers at home....  

I didn't mark the ducks with their lovely ankle bling last year, so I don't know which females were bad mothers, as opposed to this super-mama.

She hatched out 9 babies of her own, just last week.  I had put fencing up around her corner, where the nest was, to keep the barn cats away from her and to remind her that the babies needed to be with their mother.  Just in case she was one of the adolescent moms from last year who saw more value in being part of the harem instead of staying home with her babies.  And yes, before the fencing went up, the males were hanging around, trying to convince her "Come on baby, it's party time with the flock.  Those eggs will be just fine without you!"  The pressure was on, until a barrier convinced them to only check in with her occasionally and not try to lure her away from her snug little nest.

So, 9 peeping little black fuzzballs hatched from 12 eggs.  I heard the babies long before she let anyone see them.  Soon it looked as if she was lounging on a fuzzy black pillow--those little ducklings peered out with curious black eyes from under the safety of their fierce mother.

Happening in the house, at the same time:

For the very reason of mothers abandoning their nests of eggs, I had 16 eggs in the incubator.  Another mother had filled a nest with eggs, then abandoned them after starting the brooding process.  So there were little embryos of life in those eggs, and no mother sitting on the nest.  I have a hard time just letting them die, even though the life inside is not visible.  I had taken them inside and put them in the incubator, just 27 days before the barn mama's babies were hatching.

This batch had an amazing hatch rate:  All 16 eggs hatched, over a 4 day period.   Barn mama hatched her eggs on Thursday, incubator eggs started hatching on Friday.  Babies were within a few days of each other, age-wise.

 

The upstairs of our house has housed ducklings, turkeys, and chicks already this spring.  It smells like poultry and there is a layer of dust on everything.  

I looked at those 16 ducklings in the big plastic bin, with soggy bedding after just 2 days (ducklings slosh water everywhere--very messy!), and had the brilliant thought of putting them in with the other ducklings and their mother.  

I didn't expect the mother to like it, and really thought that there would be two groups of ducklings--the thriving group with a protective mother, and the cold, huddled group off by themselves.  I expected that the barn cats would get a few of them, and some wouldn't be hardy enough without a heat lamp.  There would be casualties, and the first to die would be the ones without a mother to call their own.

Here's what really happened:

I carefully tipped the plastic bin on it's side, inside the fenced duck area.  A few cautious ducklings toddled out.  The mother duck's babies dashed over to check out the newcomers.  The remaining ducklings in the bin saw the happy commotion and overcame their fear.  Together, the twenty-five new friends toddled as fast as their little webby feet could take them to the wading pool (a large plastic plant tray) and jumped in, splashing around and happily getting acquainted.  

Mama duck was so taken by surprise that she couldn't believe her eyes.  She quacked to her own babies, who ignored her completely in the sheer joy of meeting other kids who looked just like they did.  She stood by and watched as her own brood mingled with mirror-images of themselves, until the tiny flock of 9 were so mixed in with the newcomers of 16 that it was one large mass of fuzzy black cuteness.  You could almost imagine her raising her black-feathered wing up to cover her face, and peering out in dismay through wing-tip feathers at the insurmountable task that had just been plopped into her domain.

When they were soaked and exhausted, the cheerful foster-siblings clustered together, settled in for a nice nap, and mama duck had no choice but to position herself over the much larger flock of babies.  

Since then, the ducklings go everywhere together.  The wading pool.  The safe spot against the wall.  The safety of the mama's shadow when they're tired.  The warm shaft of sunlight streaming in through the dirty window became their personal tanning bed.  As fast as their little legs will carry them, they stream in whatever direction the whole group decides to go, like little wind-up toys.  They preen and fluff their wet duckling fluff as they lounge in the safety of their "mother's" watchful gaze.

When the other 5 farm-ducks come inside after a long day of munching lush grass and playing in the mucky cow-pen, they waddle past the fenced-in area as if to commiserate with the overworked mother, and she looks longingly at them but goes back to fussing over "her" babies.  Male ducks quack to her and get quite boisterous in their demands to come back and join the party, but she's safely contained inside her maternity ward with 25 little fuzzballs.

Mother and ducklings will remain in the relative safety of their little fenced corner until the ducklings are just a bit bigger.  The three barn cats from last year are just a bit too eager to sample "duckling" (as opposed to mouse, baby pigeon, vole, shrew, chipmunk.....), and the mother couldn't have protected NINE babies from them, much less the additional 16.  

This duck has earned her keep.  Her babies will be her size in less than 6 months.  She will be indistinguishable from the female babies and the other ducks, except for that special, hard-earned band of red plastic around her ankle, reminding me of her successful mothering and fostering, and earning her a place of honor on the farm.

Another duck mama is now sitting and hissing on a nest of about 15 eggs.  I don't need more ducklings.  But I will fence her in, give her the chance, and see what happens.  She too might earn a lovely red band, to grant her the privilege of another season on the farm.  Lucky for her, there are currently no hatching eggs in the incubator!

 

Laura