Duck, Goose & Chicken Hatchery

Customer Stories and Helpful Advice About Ducks & Geese

Wild Waddles

The Golden 300 (and a splattering of their white variety) make up my little flock. A mere 4 months (or so) after their arrival they began to lay. And lay they did. From the onset an egg a day. Each and every one. All through the long dark winter months they have never let me down. Mild flavored eggs of a remarkably large size. Great for baking or eating. My husband Steve especially likes his "duck" omelets.

And the ducks themselves are mild of manner. Friendly to the point of tripping over them while attending to farm duties. They follow me around the barn yard as though they consider me "head duck"&..or maybe I'm "ma" to them. They delight in swimming in our large pond. There are the occasional episodes where they take it into their "bill-laden" little heads to run (?)&..swim away from home. Beal's Creek runs through our yard precariously close to said pond.

Every once in a great while my precious ducks decide to go on an adventure. At times the call of the wild emitting from the gently gurgling waters proves too much. To this date, I have always managed to be on hand when they make a "wild waddle" towards a life of independence and thrills beyond the pond. Actually, I do not think they would ever intentionally stray too far. But once they hit the waters of this creek, they are happily swept with the current, excitedly quacking their delight, down the meandering waterway towards the "not so gentle" currents of the South Umpqua River a quarter of a mile downstream. They have never made it this far.

Thankfully, their dedication to me (and bucket of grain) has always had the desired effect. "Ducks", I cry, as I (not so gracefully) waddle after them in my leaky muck boots. "Ducks!" along with a good rattle of the feed bucket, always brings the same comical results. An excited "Quack" and a mad dash, against the current, as they swim, waddle and topple over one another to make it to my side. I, on the other hand, am running, waddling, falling over my water logged boots in an attempt to beat them to the yard. I never have managed this and the last efforts to return them safely always see me dodging their little bodies as they excitedly accompany me to our destination. They are commonly "grounded" for a day or two until I trust them once again to the mucky depths of the pond.

And on and on the comedy reenacts itself. One of these days, I must get some kind of barrier up between the creek and pond. Until that day, they all seem quite satisfied to play the game through. And yes, ducks can laugh. We do not raise these delightful birds but for those that live close there are always eggs to spare.