As you may know from following the Botany Pond reports here, Vashti had one brood that vanished from the pond two days after the babies jumped into the water with Mom. I was out of town and nobody has any idea where it went.
About a week ago, another (unnamed) hen jumped down to the ground with nine of her ducklings (I had rescued one the previous afternoon and had it conveyed to a wildlife sanctuary). Getting that hen to the pond with her babies was tough: she was followed by only three or four, and she tried to go to the Pond the wrong way around the building, which would require that everyone climb the stairs. The ducklings couldn’t manage stairs that big, so I herded the four (or five) around the south end of the building, around the bend, and through the vegetation into the pond. That wasn’t easy given the intervening bushes. Then I went back to see what was left below the nest. There were five or six ducklings wandering around disco0nsolate, peeping plaintively for mom, and some of them had gotten themselves jammed in the window well. Fortunately, I had my trusty net and captured all of them without undue stress and no apparent injury (I mostly used my hands).
I took the babies around to the pond, placed them two by two on a rock, and their peeping, combined with Mom’s quacking, quickly reunited the brood, winding up with one proud and nine ducklings. It was hard, but I was heartened when the two major drakes in the pond (Armon and his “buddy”, whom he doesn’t like) left the brood alone. But then another drake flew in and the combination of three of them was too much for the mother: the hen walked out of the pond with her babies and into the vegetation on the other side of the south fence.
They did not reappear and I can presume only that they are gone, with the babies probably dead. This was heartbreaking and I still haven’t recovered. I kick myself because I could have sent every baby to rehab, which would have required breaking up the family. I made a guess, and it turned out to be the wrong decision–but only in retrospect.
But now I am pretty sure that Vashti and her first brood were also driven out of the pond by those odious drakes. I say “first brood” because Vashti has re-nested, laid seven eggs, and her second brood is going to hatch in mid-June. This time, if there are too many drakes around, I think the best thing would be to capture the babies and have them taken to rehab. That, of course, will break up her second family, and I can’t believe that derailing her maternal efforts twice won’t break her heart, in a ducky kind of way. It’s also sad because one of my great joys, and that of the pond’s visitors, is to see a brood of tiny fluffballs turn into full-size mallards, ready to fly away come late summer or fall.
The upshot is that I have photos of the latest brood but am not yet ready to put them up and relive the misery. I will post them as soon as I recover.
In the meantime, it’s sunny and warm, and the five turtles in the pond are busy sunning themselves on the rock. Here’s a photo from the other day of three of them performing what we call “turtle yoga”: stretching out their limbs and necks to get as much sun as they can. I explain to some of the Pond’s visitors that they are trying to get their body temperature up after immersion in cold water.
I’m not going to reread this because going over what happened upsets me, but here is Turtle Yoga. Click the photo to enlarge it: This photo was taken with my iPhone, so the quality is worse than usual. The photos that are coming will be better.
Sad about the duckling saga, and the poor mother! What must she be going through! And to think that Vashti and her eventual brood may be careening toward another disaster! Oh the duckmanity!
As a consolation prize, it’s nice to see the Red-eared Sliders doing their stretches. They do the same thing here in Washington State! Must have gone viral.
Wow – this is intense – the stamina and determination – in spite of the unpredictability – is admirable and commendable, I’m glad for it!
🐣🐥
“The upshot is that I have photos of the latest brood but am not yet ready to put them up and relive the misery.”
Last year, I lost to predators a fledgling barn swallow that I was rehabilitating. I still can’t look at photos of that bird without revisiting some of that sting. I had always thought it was the one feeding out of my hand, but apparently that street runs two ways.