two days old by the glow of their infrared lamp
My parents gathered their two little chicks (who happen to be my sisters) and left for Hawaii. I agreed to stay in New York and take care of their horse and four and a half cats. I mean, Hawaii sounds good, but what could be better than taking care of a horse three times a day for two weeks? I couldn't pass up the chance, so I graciously relinquished any rights to a family jaunt in the tropics. Besides, apparently when you get married, you start a new family and get kicked out of the old one. (Only to be called back occasionally for things like horse-care.)
To prepare for their absence from The Horse, my mom stopped at Agway to pick up enough horse things to keep him and his caretaker happy. This Agway run happened 36 hours before their scheduled flight out of New York.
From Agway, that Thursday afternoon, I got a call from my mom.
"Would you like some ducks?"
Ummm, sure. What kind of question is that?
She explained enough so that I understood --I wouldn't actually have ducks, just be responsible for them for the duration of the Hawaiian Vacation (along with the horse and four and a half cats.)
"But if you want any, they're just $4 a duck and you have to get at least six."
I think I'll hold off. Besides, I really want chickens.
It turns out that the ducks were still in their eggs, so we waited a day. Friday night, our kitchen was red and peeping confusedly. The newly hatched ducks easily fit in our recycle bin, with an infrared heat lamp clamped to the side, wood shavings for bedding, water and food dishes, and plenty of room to run around. My instructions were to keep the light on and dishes full. That seemed easy enough, maybe even enjoyable. They smelled good. They were downy and cute. And they were lookin' to call me "mom".
I woke up to peeping Saturday morning. Those ducks, barely 12 hours old, had grown! I'm not kidding. They had noticeably increased in size in just one night! I was shocked and quickly realizing why my mom had left me with a cardboard box the size of my bedroom (which I had impetuously disposed of in the middle of the garage the night before). I started making calculations, trying to figure out where to put that huge box, because I knew my recycle bin was not going to be sufficient space within the next few days.
By the following Friday, one week past hatch-day, those six ducks had doubled in size. No joke. Doubled.
I fed and watered them twice a day and changed their bedding every two or three days. My boys liked to visit them. I liked to pick one up sometimes and sing it sweet melodies. But for the most part, we kept to our own business. I was busy doing whatever I do. They were busy growing.
I had envisioned the end of my fostering to be marked by six ducklings happily following me around, calling me "mom", being cuddly, friendly, cute, small... or something. Get the picture? Instead, my fostering was nearing the end and the ducks were skiddish around all non-duck creatures, their size had almost doubled a second time, they smelled --even with a frequent bedding change, and they were showing signs of feathers (borderline unattractive).
I learned that a day in the life of a duckling is like four human years. So if you spend fifteen minutes twice a day with a duckling, you're the kind of parent who visits once a year and brings treats. Trust me, that doesn't cut it. Basically, if you really want a duck to call you "mom", you'd better find a way to be with them constantly. And maybe I shouldn't joke about singing them sweet melodies. Next time, I may actually try it. Although next time I'm getting chickens.
3.5 weeks old: making friends with Cinderoo
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