Loveable Enthusiasm of Four Young Ducklings
Reading Time: 5 minutes
I’ve always enjoyed a deep sense of satisfaction from the long-awaited release of poultry from the brooder. As primary duck caretaker, I’ve worked hard to raise strong, healthy youngsters. Like a proud parent, I’m excited to see our little ones grow and take their place in the world … or in the poultry yard, as it were.
Particularly satisfying (euphoric really) was the release of our first ducklings. My previous inexperience with ducklings, and an especially busy summer, had caused their brooding to be quite a challenge, so I was thrilled to finally move them outside after a few weeks.
Out of the house and across the back yard, I carried the clear plastic storage tub that had served as their brooder. It had become much heavier and a bit unwieldy as they moved around inside. Just ahead was a spacious chicken yard with anything four young ducks could possibly want. In the far corner sat a brand-new coop and a large, plastic wading pool. Everything was starting out perfectly.
As I entered the chicken yard, a small party of curious patrons wandered over to get a closer look at their new neighbors. I placed the tub on the ground and reached inside. Each duck kicked its webbed feet wildly, as though reaching desperately for the ground. It was going to be interesting, I thought, to see how they’d get along with the chickens. However, as soon as I set them down, the adventurous ducks all turned and quickly tottered away without any formal introductions.
It was rib tickling to watch the young ducks travel tightly together all around the chicken yard, peeping loudly as they went. At the lead was a Fawn and White Runner named Tina, followed by two Khaki Campbells, aligned side by side, named Smiley and Coco. Finally, right behind them was Ally, a White Muscovy. Truly, it’s amazing that they didn’t trip over each other or bonk heads as they speedily waddled along so close together.
After the small flock toured the farthest reaches of the yard, they returned and stopped next to the chickens. I’d been a little disappointed with their initial evasion, but now I was going to have an opportunity to see the first real encounter after all. I’d been excited for months, anticipating this moment, and I wondered what friendly interaction might take place between the two species.
Politely recognizing the ducks’ approach, our lead rooster stepped forward to gracefully present himself. Tony was a magnificent, fluffy White Cochin rooster, whose lofty head and genteel spirit denoted a venerable diplomacy. To simply look at him was to hold him in high regard.
Unexpectedly, his counterpart returned his stately welcome with her own sense of delicacy and good manners. Tina took one look at him, jutted her head forward, and charged at him like a mad bull. Tony quickly turned to the side as Tina rushed by, narrowly missing her target. Looking confused and affronted, he seemed to be saying, “This is highly irregular behavior! What’s the meaning of this?”
No answer was forthcoming, however, as Tina briskly wheeled around and headed straight toward the chicken coop with the other three ducklings closely in tow. In a moment, they all scrambled up the ramp and disappeared inside. This instantly stirred up a loud commotion, followed by the frenzied exit of several laying hens. Feathers flew as they burst out the door and dashed everywhere, cackling madly.
Not sure whether to laugh, or to swallow hard, I wandered over to the coop and discovered a huge mess in the making. The ducks were gorging themselves on the chickens’ provisions with great zeal. Like tire swings, large hanging feeders and waterers swayed every which way, flinging their contents in all directions. Ducking my head and holding up my arm as a shield, I entered the mad gauntlet and shooed them outside. My wet T-shirt clung to my back as I looked myself over and found that I was wearing the chickens’ lunch. The sticky mixture of feed pellets and water was streaked across my pants and was actively oozing down to my feet.
Several minutes later, I watched the last bit of goo reluctantly slide out of my boot at the insistence of repeated poundings from my fist. I glanced around inside the coop at the huge mess they’d made, but I assured myself that everything would be straightened out soon. Then, as I finally slipped the boot back on my foot, I heard strange slurping noises through the open window. Curious, I went back out to the yard and walked behind the coop, where I found all four ducks making yet another mess. “Not again!” I sputtered.
This time they’d discovered a slightly shallow spot in the ground behind the chicken coop. It had rained earlier, and only the slightest pool of surface water was detectable there. Still, two of them were excitedly sucking at the wet dirt underneath, as ducks do, in search of bugs and plant matter. While they were rapidly transforming the wet spot into a genuine mud hole, the other two were taking their turn at wallowing in it.
“This is really too much,” I groaned, as I began to wonder if I was really cut out to be a duck farmer. Feeling weak in the knees, I trudged toward them.
When they noticed me approaching, they stopped their filthy fun and looked up sheepishly. Each one was covered from head to foot, but like soiled puppies caught digging holes, they looked so pathetic that I couldn’t stay angry. “Silly ducks,” I said while unsuccessfully fighting back a smile.
Long ago, I’d been disposed of the unrealistic idea that life would always be clean and carefree. I simply considered this episode to be the most recent example of that understanding. Bending down, I gently wiped a large chunk of mud off Tina’s bill, and herded them toward their swimming pool for a much-needed bath. Finally, after plenty of splashy fun, they were once again clean.
Over time, the allure of a good mudhole never went away. However, a couple things did change for the better. The ducks never again picked a fight with the rooster, nor did they ever rush inside the chicken coop and spill feed and water. They only spilled their OWN from then on.
Mark M. Hall lives with his wife, their three daughters, and numerous pets on a four-acre slice of paradise in rural Ohio. Mark is a veteran small-scale chicken farmer and an avid observer of nature. As a freelance writer, he endeavors to share his life experiences in a manner that is both informative and entertaining.
Originally published in the June/July 2025 issue of Backyard Poultry and regularly vetted for accuracy.
