Hope is the Thing With Feathers


| 3/30/2015 9:20:00 AM


Jill ClinganThis morning Matt found me standing outside, filling a small pool with water for the chickens and ducks to drink, and crying. He wrapped a sweatshirt around my shoulders and asked me what was wrong. I told him that I couldn’t find another of our three ducks.

After our pond thawed a few weeks ago, our ducks decided that it wasn’t really necessary to waddle to the safety of the coop at night. They now sleep down by the pond, and because we have Hans, our Great Pyrenees/Anatolian Shepherd, sleeping up on the porch, I thought – I hoped – they would be OK. But three days ago we woke up to find that one of our drakes had disappeared in the night.

Ducks in the pond 

To be perfectly honest, I hoped for a day or two that he would show up, like maybe he just got lost in the woods or something and would waddle his way back home. But of course that didn’t happen. We don’t know what got to him; there were no feathers, no signs of a struggle.  He just … disappeared.

Sometimes I wonder if I am made of tough enough stuff to handle this life in the country. I worry, a lot, about the safety of our chickens and ducks. We love them. Probably a little too much. They have all been held and doted upon. Some of them have names. Every single one has his or her own quirky, funny personality. But I worry about them.



Amelie and Hoppy





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