Return of the Hairy Pigs

The Big Day finally arrived!

Heckington is Britain's largest village show; last year's 22,500 visitors smashed all previous records and made it bigger than some of the County shows. All the usual attractions are there, (pig racing! jousting! sheep-shearing, shire horses, Grade A showjumpers, masses of shopping and eating opportunities etc etc) as well as some unique features like the annual Lincolnshire Longwool auction and, of course, this year for the first time in over 3 decades - the return of the Hairy Pigs. Good job Wurzel and Pepper were totally unaware of their celebrity or we'd never have managed to keep them so quiet all day. And what a day it was. But I'll backtrack a little way first....

We transferred Wurzel and Pepper from their outdoor pen to the Old Stalls on Friday so they would be clean-ish, dry and ready for 'polishing' and preening on Saturday. All that was duly achieved with minimal fuss - in fact, though Pepper didn't really appreciate the brushing, the rest of the preparation was most acceptable! We went off on Saturday afternoon to 'suss' out the show and location of our pen and loading/unloading facilities; also we took Gunner along to give him a foretaste of what to expect the following day. So many new sights and sounds for a little pup. He was quite overawed and kept stopping dead in his tracks to stare at yet another novelty! So it took quite a while to perambulate around the showground and get our bearings. Eventually, though, we managed to locate and organise things to our satisfaction and felt reasonably confident that we could manage to get sorted on Sunday. Since neither we, nor the piggies, had done anything like this before it was all just a little bit nerve wracking......

Sunday morning dawned fine and dry - and we were up by 5.30 a.m. to sort the rest of the Rectoryreserve inhabitants before loading and leaving home at 7.30 - accompanied by quite a few snorts and grunts about "Bit early" and "Hang on, where's breakfast?" and "How's a chap supposed to travel on an empty stomach?". Unloading at the show an hour later was no problem thanks to the assistance of a large number of sheep hurdles with which we built a 'runway' from the trailer to the pen.... Wurzel and Pepper let their curiosity lead them along till they reached the pen - where, Joy of Joys, they found plenty of food and fresh water and - best of all - fresh grass and earth to dig up! They couldn't have been happier. The visitors who came along in the first hour were greeted by the sight of pigs doing what they love best. After that, exhausted and content, they spent most of the day sleeping, snoring and grunting (pigs, not visitors ... though perhaps some of those did too...) - largely with their backs turned to their numerous admirers - apart from the occasional flurry of activity digging up the late arriving straw in order to return to rootling in the grass! And what a lot of admirers they had. Not only were they the ONLY pigs at the show but their attendance had been much heralded in the local media, so people had travelled from far and wide to see them. "40 years since I last seen one of them hairy pigs here" said one well-worn farmer. The day sped by on a host of tales and stories told of the 'old' days of the Lincolnshire Curly coat. Apparently the catalogue for the 1911 Lincolnshire Show had pages and pages of entries for the Curly Coat classes. Lots of photos were taken and if we'd collected a £ for each time somebody said "Oh Look - pigs" we'd have left the showground with very heavy pockets indeed! All in all, a very worthwhile - and slightly overawing - event.... As for Gunner; well, he attracted almost as much attention as the pigs for his looks and his manners - we probably could have sold him a hundred times over. He certainly came away well experienced in dealing with sheep and cattle - especially Very Large Bulls (one just along the line from us was fully 5' tall and must have weighed nearly 2 tonnes!). He couldn't wait to tell Lancer and Pilot all about his adventures when he got home. Were they Impressed? Not a bit. In fact you could almost hear them muttering to themselves... "Another shaggy dog tale..."

It's raining cats and dogs.......and ducks

The rain abated overnight on Thursday. We awoke in the early hours of Friday to an amazing cacophony of quacking. One of the ducks sounded in some distress. "Crikey" I thought, "Polly (who is the last of the ducks still sitting on a nest) has flown out of her nest in the barn through one of the horses' windows and can't get back in again". I sprang out of bed, sped down the steps and - donning wellies - dashed down to the yard. Where I found Polly still quacking for all she was worth outside one of the barn doors. I quickly opened two or three doors for her and, as I'd suspected, she speedily waddled back towards her nest. So I left her to it and returned to bed and my pot of tea!

It's THE BIG WEEKEND for the piggies - showtime - so the main job of the morning, when we surfaced again, was to move Dolly and her brood from the stalls nursery to the main Poultry Palace pen so that Wurzel and Pepper could later be transferred to the stalls from their quarters in order to begin the preparing-piggies-for-show process. It's no easy task to move 7 ducklings and their mother; first they have to be safely cornered and then gently scooped up one by one and placed in a large box- with mum attacking the marauding hands with her beak for all she's worth. However, I've had a bit of practice by now, and luckily managed to do this pretty quickly, successfully transferring the family to the New Pond. Dolly spent a bit of time showing the little ones the perimeters of the pen but very soon they were all happily ducking and diving on the pond.

Having let the other Poultry Palace residents 'out' for the day I returned to the barn to check that Polly had found her way back to her nest. But when I looked, there was no bird. Just a few broken eggs. My first thought was that Polly had, like Dolly, managed to get her brood off the hay stack and out into the world when no-one was looking. But I was puzzled by that because, in order to keep them all safe from the dogs, I had put a broody pen around the bottom of the hay. So I looked around on the floor of the pen and, sure enough, tucked in the hay, by the water container was a little cluster of yellow and brown fluff! Not so little either. Nine tiny ducklings all huddled together to keep warm - on their own - no sign of Polly..... So I went out to the Poultry Palace pen and did a beak count and sure enough, there she was, with all her mates having a jolly good old gossip. Thinking she'd return to her brood later I left her to it.

But did she return? Did she heck. Later in the day it dawned on me that all that early morning quacking was, in fact, Polly trying her hardest to encourage her brood to follow her out of the barn and down to the pond. But the poor little things - with no wings and not enough strength to jump over the pen, or even push under or through - couldn't possibly follow. So I reckon after an hour or so of trying she, and they, gave up. And now they're little orphans. I alternately switched the lights on and off during the remainder of the day to encourage them to eat - in the light - and sleep - in the dark and put a hot water bottle covered in hessian under a patch of their hay bedding for the night. Let's hope the little things survive the next couple of days. If they do we'll move them to the stalls (when the piggies are gone) for the first month, after which they'll be strong enough to join the others. If they all survive, of course, we'll have rather a lot of ducks..... but that's a 'problem' for another day....

What a life!

Conchita returns to the flock

Just four weeks after hatching her brood, Conchita has today returned to her little flock in the top corner of the Church field. I think she was much relieved; I put her in the chicken removal vehicle - aka the cat basket - at opening up time this morning and transported her down to her mates and, as soon as the door was opened, she flew out, shaking her feathers in a terrible paddy; there was nothing but clucks and chuckles with them for the first 15 minutes or so - perhaps she was telling them all about the joys of broodyhood and how exciting it was being shut in with little chicks all day and night. As for Merlin, well ... he was most delighted to have her back. If she gave another thought to her chicks, she showed no sign of it, going about her business, bossing everyone about as usual. And the chicks? They seemed quite contented all day long, going about their usual affairs. They didn't seem quite so happy though when it came to shutting up time - extra early for them tonight - rushing around in their little house frantically wondering where to go and what to do for the best. Clearly, they're used to Conchita telling them exactly what to do. After alternately cowering in the corner and dashing madly up and down, they did eventually settle. Poor little things. Usually they sleep in a box with her so they will probably miss her cosy warm feathers for a night or two.

You'll see from the picture that she has luxurious, dense feathering. This is because her breed, the Cochin (she is a lavender Cochin) originate in Asia so needed the warm feathering to withstand harsh winters. They were brought over to England by the Victorians who prized them for their meat as much as their manners. If Conchita is anything to go by, they are very calm and gentle birds who never fuss or get excited but do like to be at the top of the pecking order. She's usually the last out of the Chicken House in the mornings and invariably the first to go to roost in the evenings and, when it rains, she'll mostly be found sitting inside looking out on the world - probably because her feathers weigh very heavy when they are wet! Anyway, she's been an excellent broody this year and raised 3 handsome chicks. Unfortunately, the fourth one was suffocated by those same feathers a week or so ago - but we cannot blame Conchita for that. Let's just hope that at least 2 of the remaining chicks are hens! It is doubtful though. More likely to be 3 cockerels - but it's far too early to tell yet.

For Mangalitza read 'Mudlark'

After three days of almost constant rain - on one of which alone the total normally recorded for a month fell - the sun finally came out today. Briefly.
Mangel and his mates are now wallowing in a quagmire of what, in this part of the world, is known as 'slarmy' mud. This tends to be one of the driest parts of the country but the two towns nearest to us, Horncastle and Louth, made the national news and weather reports for the record amounts of rain that fell on Thursday last.
We are very much hoping for a drier week ahead though as Wurzel and Pepper have a long anticipated appointment next weekend at Heckington Show - one of the major agricultural events in the County.
Mangalitzas have an historic connection with Lincolnshire and the invitation arrived from the Chairman of the Show Committee as soon as word got out that Mangel and Wurzel had arrived at the Rectoryreserve.
There used to be a breed known as the (white or blonde) Linconshire Curly Coat but unfortunately it 'died out' in 1972, due in no small part to the pressures on agricultural production following the 2nd World War. However, in the early 1900's some of the breed had been exported to Austria and The Balkans to augment their stocks of Mangalitzas (also curly coated) which were under threat of extinction. During the 1920's Lincolnshire Curly Coats won many of the top awards at the Budapest show and achieved the Gold Medal in 1925. Before too long, crossbred Lincolistas were absorbed into the native Mangalitza stock in Hungary and Austria. Those in the west are usually 'swallow bellied' like Mangel and Wurzel; further east a single blonde colour (like Pepper) predominates whereas in parts of Hungary and the balknas a red tinge (like Ginger) is apparent. Their meat was held in high esteem and at one time they were even traded on the Vienna Stock Exchange! Today they are in short supply and are listed by the Society for the Conservation of Endangered Livestock Breeders of Austria. In 2003 there were just 39 boars and 106 sows spread across 46 breeders.
In 2006, for the very first time, a small number of these were imported to the UK: thanks to the enthusiasm of Tony York (http://www.pigparadise.com/) and his colleagues who planned, researched and then travelled across Europe to find some whose pedigrees traced back to the original Lincolnshire Curly Coat. No mean feat. DNA samples of these have been preserved. The hope is that the UK breed may be moved closer to the original Curly Coat. Meanwhile, there are now approximately 30 of the breed in the UK and Rectoryreserve is proud to have its herd in the midst of the Wolds in the county where the Curly Coats originated.
And that is why they are 'special guests' at Heckington Show next weekend. Perhaps it won't matter too much if they are a little muddy.....

More flyers?

We've introduced a number of the creatures who share the Rectoryreserve but have yet to mention the main reason why we moved here from the sub-urban sprawl of the South-East nearly a decade ago.
And that reason was to indulge a passion in carriage driving - or 'flying with horses' as it is sometimes known. This was personified by the acquisition of Mr Ritz and Maxim's, or Ritz and Max as they prefer to be called.
We moved here at the beginning of August and Ritz and Max came to join us at the end of September. That was a lot quicker than we had planned. But we found them a lot faster than we had anticipated. We were not ready!

Their arrival is not easily forgotten. They were coming up from the far South of the country and were due to arrive late morning. Soon after breakfast our nearest neighbour, who is about half a mile away, rang to ask if we could help her extricate a fox which had got trapped in one of her (barbed wire) fences. So off went the husband leaving me to finish preparing the makeshift stable in the barn (although stable fitments were on order these were scheduled to arrive somewhat later) prior to the horses' arrival. So I was somewhat flustered when a young chap arrived in the yard and said he had a delivery. I told him to leave it in the back porch. "Doubt if it'll fit" said he. "Well leave it outside the door then" said I. "Not a good idea, doubt it'll stay there long" said he. "What the hell is it, then?" said I. "Horses and carriage". "But you're not supposed to get here for another couple of hours; we're not ready for you yet!"
Happily, he was a chap with a sense of humour and when I explained about the absent husband's mission, he promptly went off to help. When they both returned, we agreed the best thing was to unload and turn the horses out in the little walled garden - full of interesting plants and shrubs to eat, which luckily distracted the horses sufficiently to stop them stepping over the little picket fence to explore further afield - and go and have a cup of tea and 'unpack' the rest of the delivery.
Thus it was that a couple of hours later, Wilf having left on his long journey home, we were to be found holding two strange horses, trying to work out which was which (they are half-brothers and almost identical to the unfamiliar eye) and wondering what on earth to do next. Though we'd had a horse at livery for a couple of years, this was our first experience of keeping horses at home. They obviously sensed our confusion and couldn't have behaved better. Eventually we turned them out in what we call the Rectory Field. It's a decent field now but at the time it was just a rough 2 acres of 5ft high straggly grass and (lots of) weed with slightly dodgy fencing in part. They didn't care though - after their journey they were happy to go anywhere with grass and were soon almost submerged in greenery.

Things got better from then onwards - but more of that, and them, another day. The pictures show them relaxing in the Church Field and competing in a carriage driving competition.

White Duck and Bumble bees

With one exception, all the ducks on the Rectoryreserve are Call ducks. These are direct descendents of the wild Mallard and are thought to have originated in Holland where they are still known as Decoy ducks. They were originally used to entice wild ducks to enter large funnel traps. Later hunters tethered them close to gunning stations to lure wild ducks within shooting range. It was probably the only breed in history selected for its voice, which is uniquely high pitched and carries over long distances (which made them invaluable to hunters); they talk fast and furiously, the hens often all at once, as if laughing and chuckling at some shared joke. Nowadays they are bred mainly for decoration and show; on the Rectoryreserve they provide hours of distraction, amusement and entertainment as they busy themseves bustling hither and thither with great vim and vigour, usually making the most tremendous racket - needless to say, we see very few wild ducks around here.


However, the White Duck is an exception - to most rules of nature. She is an Aylesbury cross Pekin and was bred (as are many thousands each year) to grace the dinner table. Bred for meat and flavour, she is four or five times the size of the little Calls and, rather than 'chatter' she makes large, insistent honking quacks. That she is with us is a bit of a miracle. Her kinsfolk live only for 7 weeks before they are collected from their sheds in the early hours of the morning and taken away to be prepared for their culinary destiny. White duck, along with two males, managed to escape being caught. We re-homed them all (by coincidence the man who made our Chicken Shack worked at the farm where these ducks were reared and he was 'keeping an eye' on the escapees when we met him to collect the Shack, so we agreed to take them off his hands). Unfortunately, the male ducks died within a few months, but White Duck is now 3 or 4 years old. Bred to have a large breast and plenty of meat on her, at first she could only waddle a short distance quite slowly. Certainly, had she tried to swim in those early days she would have sunk under her own weight. Just as well we only had a large puddle at the time. Over the next year she gradually got fitter and more active and, to our great surprise, started laying eggs; she lays one very large white egg almost every day. The hens seem to consider her a superior species - if they spot the eggs before we do, they destroy them.
Unlike the Call ducks, she always comes for titbits and competes very successfully with all the chickens. Rather than look at the ground to see what's fallen, she looks up at me to see what's coming and if its pasta or bread everyone else had better get out of her way!

What's the connection with the Bumble Bee? Well, bumble bees are not ergonomically designed to fly; their body weight is far to great for their wing size. They are an engineering miracle and should really be permanently grounded. Yet they don't know this and so they fly. White duck was never meant to have a normal life. But she doesn't know that. She's strong and happy and thriving - and swims as well as any duck in the new pond!

On the subject of keeping clean - the new pond

There are times when you wonder if all the effort you put in for the animals is really appreciated.

When we started out with ducks we only had 4 so needed only a small pond. Gradually the number increased to 16 and the pond turned into a large puddle and life on the 'puddle' was just a wee bit crowded. Then came the pigs - who live uphill of the poultry - and the rainwater flowed downhill from their territory into the duck puddle and it all got a bit messy.

So last weekend we decided it was time for a little re-organisation. In came the digger, out came the little pond and up came the puddle. Leaving a glorious 14' by 12' hole which was two foot deep - the foundation of a wonderful new pond. A while ago we'd 'inherited' an old carpet from a local Public House, so we used that as the basis and laid a butyl rubber sheet over it which overlapped the sides. The sides are reinforced with bricks reclaimed from some old building we knocked down a few years ago and two of the sides - as you can see in the photo - are reinforced with roof tiles - also reclaimed from the old building. We try to recycle as much material as possible on the Rectoryreserve (though there are a couple of huge old wooden carriage house doors that I have no idea what to do with) so it was a great pleasure only to have to buy in the butyl liner.

With the pond ready, we rejigged the fencing to create a slightly different pen enabling us to leave a run-way between the pigs and the poultry - all far more manageable than before. And then, with great expectation and eager anticipation - on our part - we opened the new pen and pond up to the poultry.

Naturally, I expected the ducks - who had been restricted to a washing-up bowl and a plant water tray for the whole of the previous week - to waddle speedily and eagerly over to the new pond. But did they? Of course not. Scary thing, the new pond. They totally ignored it. It stayed pristine and empty for the best part of an hour before the bravest of the bunch - White Duck - finally made her way over. And then went away again.

A little while later she returned. Stood gingerly on the edge. Looked sideways into the water. Stuck her head down nervously. Then she washed her beak; then she dipped a toe in; then she had a drink - and then she washed her beak; then she dipped a toe in; then she called her mates who, as you can see, decided to stick to the safety of the water tray! So, probably in disgust, she slid in and glided gracefully around the perimeter - and then there was the most almighty display of splashing and dipping ever given by a solitary bird! For a duck who was bred never to swim (more of which next time) she had a whale of a time, ducking and diving under water and splashing for all she was worth. And STILL the others didn't join her --- until a good half hour later, when one by one they nervously and hesitantly slipped over the edge. And then all hell was let loose as they all tried to outdo each other. About 10 minutes of that and out they staggered, clearly exhausted because for much of the rest of the day they were fast asleep in the shade with their beaks tucked under their wings!

We didn't see them in the pond for the rest of the day and the next morning, instead of rushing out of the poultry palace and straight into the pond - as they always did with the 'puddle' - they ignored it again for several hours. Then the temptation was too much - and anyway, the washing up bowl they'd happily queued for the previous few days had been removed - and one by one they gingerly returned and repeated their delighted ducking and diving antics -- so maybe they do appreciate if after all!

Never knowingly into mud

Just about the only chap on the Rectoryreserve who is never knowingly into mud is Cat - or Puddycat as she is officially known. Here you see Gunner chasing after her - a current pre-occupation since he cannot quite work out the purpose of cats. She is gradually getting him trained though; a series of withering looks - like this one which clearly says "get off my tail, mut" - and a few sharp decisive taps about the inquisitive nose with a paw - will soon put him in his proper place (several rungs below cat on the ladder of life). Back to the mud though - have you ever seen a dirty cat; how is it, eveything and everybody else around here gets muddy or slightly dirty much of the time and Cat remains utterly spotfree? Part of the answer clearly lies in her chief past-time - as in the second picture - no amount of preening will satisfy her but eventually food does call and she breaks off to go satisfy the hungry tum.

Cat was not always known as Puddycat. She started out in life as Harpo and, together with her brother, Chico, came here as a yard cat to keep down the unwanted wildlife population.... The following spring Chico, always the bolder of the two, went off wandering and, unfortunately, was never seen again. A month or two later, Harpo, always the follower, also disappeared, never to be seen again. That is, until some 3 months later when the photo we'd put up in the local vet's surgery was seen by the lady from the Cats Protection League - whom I'd coincidentally only spoken to about taking a couple of feral kittens a couple of days earlier. She rang to say somebody on the other side of town had reported a lost cat, which looked identical, wandering around their house over the past few days. Eventually, as the guys who'd 'found' the cat didn't really want us to re-find it, we drove down to see the cat and - yes - it did look identical to Harpo. Having not seen us for several months, he was a bit nervous of us but we did manage to catch him and, almost to tears from the other guys, we drove home with him. He remained nervous and anxious about going outside but we put that down to his traumatic experiences over the past few months. We did wonder that he had learned to use a litter tray in his absence - something we only 'learned' after he repeatedly did his 'business' in our downstairs loo! Several other habits, like sitting on newspaper, also made us wonder who had looked after him in the time he was away from home. Imagine our horror too when, about a month later, we noticed that he had been castrated in his absence! Several months elapsed and Harpo gradually settled down and became excessively fond of sitting on heads and shoulders and then it was time for his annual trip to the vet. Mentioning the story of his disappearance and lucky re-finding to the vet I also brought up the matter of his castration. Whereupon the vet examined cat in rather more detail and - yes - declared him to be a her! I was dumbstruck. Not Harpo at all. We had unwittingly re-homed someone else's much loved cat!!! I queried whether I should advertise the fact to find 'her' proper owner but the vet's attitude was that since cat had clearly settled down it would cause more trauma and disruption so "best to leave well alone".

Hence, Harpo became Puddycat, or, more familiarly, Cat and has lived happily ever since - particularly after training us all to her ways and needs!

Mud, glorious mud

Weatherwise, June was one hell of a month. Amazingly, it was not the wettest on record. That was set in June 1860 when 157mm (6.2 in) of water fell. It was even worse if you happened to be living in Cherrapunji, in a remote part of north east India; between August 1860 and July 1861 86.83 feet of rain fell (26.47m). During the same period, the south west of America was struck by a drought more savage than the renowned Dust bowl years of the 1930s.

Anyway, back to the present and the reality of rain on the Rectoryreserve: we are very fortunate in being up on 'the Wolds' so any serious rain water courses down our drive, past the house, round the yard and straight on down the hill to the pond at the bottom, from which any excess overflows into the river tributary which joins the main river stream, which eventually flows down through the most local town - which did experience quite a bit of flooding. Before we built what everyone thinks are diagonal speed humps (but they are actually water buffers) on our drive, quite a bit of storm water used to just take the most direct downward route via the front of the house. Now, the humps deflect the worst of it off to the sides of the drive and into the verges.

Nonetheless, the rain still made an impression; most notably in the pigs' territory. In the picture above on the right you can see Mangel and Wurzel inspecting the boundaries of their domain when they first moved from the stalls to the outside world. Quite clean and tidy really. In the other picture you can see Ginger and Pepper wading through the same pen, now transformed into something resembling the field at Glastonbury. See the third picture! It was absolute hell for us to wade through in our wellies to retrieve their feed bowls or replenish the straw in and around their arks, but they absolutely loved it. Many years ago, when nobody had a care about recycling, the copse the pigs are in was used for dumping rubbish. So, the rain has enabled them to really rootle down into the mud and retrieve all manner of bottles, pans and sundry bits of metal! It's quite a sight to see a pig with several inches of thick, gloopy mud- with bits of rubbish stuck in it - on the end of his nose! They have never had so much fun - and we have so far filled half a dozen old plastic feed sacks with the rubbish they have dug up!

And still they keep coming

Having just got used to the idea of Dolly pitter-pattering around with her little tribe I thought I must be seeing double when, a couple of hours later, I turned round and saw yet another duck with a tribe of minis following.... This time it was Molly proudly showing her brood of 10 the direct route through the stables to the outside world. She had made her nest in some hay on the floor of the barn so at least her ducklings had not had to absail down the side of some bales before seeing the outside world. Still pretty scary though if you're only a couple of inches high and you're expected to follow mum into the big outside.... In no time at all though all were happily trotting to and fro, through the flower beds, around the Poultry Palace, up to the pigs and back round the barn into the hay for a short snooze - before repeating the whole process all over again. It all got a bit confusing when Dolly and her 12 met Molly and her 10 for a quick gossip around the water bowls - ducklings going hither and thither and all looking much the same. Then it was time to follow mum off on another adventure - and three of Molly's accidentally went with Dolly. It was not too many yards before she noticed and, telling her 12 to keep still, chaperoned them back to Molly! Later on, one of Molly's followed Dolly and this time it got a bit of a bop on the back with a beak and told to go away in no uncertain manner. They certainly have to grow up quickly.... survival of the fittest again. By nightfall though all were safely tucked under their right mums...

Ducklings - what ducklings?

It's amazing that within a couple of days of hatching, ducklings are expected to make their way around the territory without hesitation or pause. Dolly's brood were in and out of the pond then back to the Poultry Palace for a brief snooze before being chaperoned off again round the stable yard, through the barns, up to the midden and past the piggies and then back to the Poultry Palace via the flower bed and water bowls (for Dolly's bath). And it's not even lunch time yet!

The second picture shows them (?) all fast asleep under Dolly in the straw. Incredible that 12 ducklings can fit so neatly under her tummy and wings - although she does look just a little bit 'fatter' than normal!

Dolly's Dozen

The RectoryReserve wildlife seems totally undeterred by all the rain we are having this summer. In fact, if the ducks are anything to go by, it would appear to be having a very positive effect. Dolly displayed her brood for the first time yesterday - and what a brood! In the 5 years since we started keeping ducks, this is the largest clutch to have hatched. Clever Dolly. All the more so because she built her nest on the fourth bale level amongst the hay in the barn. Not only did she have to keep going up and down herself for the 4 weeks of incubation (ducklings take a week longer than chicks to hatch) but the 12 ducklings had to negotiate their way down from the hay in order to follow her to the pond. That's about 100yds away using the circuitous route they had to follow to get out of the barn after the horses had been turned out in their field for the day. No mean feat considering they were probably only two or three days old at the time and had never been out of the nest. In fact, the first we knew of them was when I went into the Poultry Palace to collect the chicken eggs yesterday morning and saw what I thought was a very fat duck - or maybe even two - sitting in the midst of the straw. As I opened the door to go in, Dolly rose up in stately fashion displaying a mass of tiny heads and bodies hidden beneath her. I couldn't understand where they had suddenly appeared from since I'd seen and heard nothing in the haybarn the previous day! I thought it must have been a broody duck I'd inadvertantly missed seeing in the Poultry Palace. It was only when I went to check her nest in the hay that it dawned on me exactly what Dolly had achieved.

We now have to keep our fingers crossed and hope as many as possible survive. Ducklings have a very high mortality rate, which I don't really understand, but I think has something to do with the fact that in the first week or two they are quite unstable and if they fall over on their backs they don't have enough strength in their wings to 'flip' themselves over again. It's very sad. But I suppose it's nature's way of making sure the strongest survive.