Sights from around Crooked Acres.
Duck action in the back forty.
Or, A tale of four duckies.
Or, Why does Fred never listen to me?
So, the ducks.
So, we attempted to herd them out to the pond, and they were so not having it that when I stopped paying attention for a moment on the way out to the pond, they zigged instead of zagged, and went running up Dirt Hill to avoid going all the way out to the dreaded pond.
We had to round them up and get them out to the pond again. This time I was paying attention the whole way.
We’d brought a baggie of Cheerios out with us, and in an attempt to convince them that the pond was a cool place to hang out, we tossed Cheerios on the water. A couple of the ducks tried the Cheerios, but weren’t impressed. They swam back and forth, looking for a way out, and as soon as we backed off, out they ran.
And they rinsed off in their pool to get that nasty pond water off of them. Ingrates.
(No flying this time.)
So then I made a suggestion I’d made at least 100 times before.
“Let’s take a scoop of chicken scratch out to the pond with us,” I said. “And toss it on the water and see if they’ll stay in the water for that.”
And like he’d said 100 times before, Fred said “But it’s heavy and it’ll sink and they won’t get to it before it sinks to the bottom of the pond.”
I countered with “Let’s TRY IT.” I went and got a scoop of chicken scratch (which is comprised of cracked corn, among other things, and is the best thing on earth to the chickens and especially to the ducks), and we herded them back out to the pond.
And lo and behold, when I tossed scratch onto the water, the ducks were THRILLED. Yes, scratch does not float. But guess what ducks like to do?
This time when we backed off, they stayed in the water for a while, and then they came out and stood around the pond and then they WENT BACK IN for a brief period of time. Eventually they headed back to home base, but they weren’t frantic about it.
So to summarize: I was right and Fred never listens to me, even though I am ALWAYS right. The end.
This is my least favorite part of fostering, right now. Charlie and Patty are under the impression that they ARE home, but come Friday morning I’m going to bundle them up and take them to Petsmart, and they’ll be all “Wha?” So I’ve been picking them up and kissing and hugging them a lot – maybe come Friday they’ll be all “Thank god that lady isn’t here. That kissing and hugging was getting on my NERVES.”
I do hope they go to a home together, but I think that even if they don’t, as long as there are other cats there, they’ll be okay.
(But of course I love it when siblings get to stay together.)
I will, of course, keep you all informed as to their adoption status!
Would you believe that when we first got Charlie, Fred thought he was “boring”? He’s not as captivated by the smaller kittens as I am. He prefers them when they’re older, I think they really capture his heart when they’re five or six months old.
In response to a comment from yesterday, the Sons will start their foray into the world of Gen Pop this weekend. First they’ll get the run of the upstairs (the bathroom and my room in addition to their own room) for a few days, and assuming that that goes well, we’ll let them have short periods of access to the rest of the house, and eventually they’ll have all-day access. I think it’ll probably go well, and most likely by this time next week they’ll have daytime access to the rest of the house, and at night they’ll go back into their room.