Duck Hunt! (Hoo boy, do we know how to have fun!)
Remember when Duck Hunt was just an Nintendo game? It’s your lucky day! Duck Hunt is now available in real life, right here at In the Night Farm.
[No animals were harmed in the making of this game.]
You see, when Ironman and I brought home our box of fuzzy ducklings, there were a couple things we didn’t know. First, ducklings eat three times their own weight every 24 hours (or at least they seem to, judging by the feed bill). Second, Khaki Campbells and Rouens are not flightless. The breeder pamphlets say they are, but I assure you, it’s a lie.
Just ask me how I know.
Okay, I’ll tell you: Because I’ve seen them do it!
A couple weeks ago, when I went to Chicago and left Ironman in charge of the farm, he came around the corner to the fenced (but not roofed) duck yard and startled up a couple of Rouens. One lingered nearby and he nabbed it, but the other was last seen on a wobbly flightpath into an oncoming thunderstorm.
Tonight, I did the same thing. Came around the corner, and up went a Khaki Campbell. She flew northward over the horse paddocks and disappeared. Well crap, I thought. Those buggers are worth their weight in gold, after all they’ve eaten! Better keep them locked in their indoor pen until we can get a roof on the yard.
I resigned myself to the loss of yet another member of the poultry brigade (it’s been a rough year for chickens, too), collected the eggs and mail, paused to inspect the garden, and climbed wearily up the to the main level of my farmhouse.
…and I heard a duck. Quacking. From beyond the horse pens.
Well, what did I have to lose? I trotted back down the stairs and through the pasture, circling around behind a patch of weeds at which all the horses were staring curiously. Sure enough, there was little Khaki, a female, panting and obviously distressed by the unintended separation from her flock.
I approached slowly, sure my chances of catching her were close to nil, and was surprised to get within 6 feet before she panicked. She blundered against a nearby fence, flapping and squawking, the managed to slip through.
Dang it! I hurried around to the sheep pens, where there’s a spot of fence strong enough to climb over without tearing down the wire or getting zapped with electricity, and caught up with Khaki near the stallion paddocks. She didn’t seem to want to fly, but watched me warily, waddling away and occasionally skimming along with her wings outstretched and flapping if I got too close.
Right then. Nice and easy does the trick. Feeling like a large and unwieldy sheepdog, I herded her carefully up the path toward the gate, wondering what on earth I’d do if I managed to get her through. The fences seemed to guide her, but a long stretch of open land lies between the paddocks and the poultry housing.
As it turned out, that was one bridge I didn’t need to cross. Khaki waddled right past the gate and into the round corral I use for training horses. I managed to direct her to the uphill side, where the panels are set into the hill and the earth shored back with planks to make a solid wall about as high as Khaki’s upraised head.
Still unwilling — or too unfit? — to do so, Khaki scrambled back and forth as I weaved to stay ahead of her, repeatedly blocking her path as though she were a fractious filly. In the back of my mind, I couldn’t help wondering how hard the neighbors were laughing.
Slowly, slowly I crept nearer. Near enough to…
Missed. Blast! Khaki slipped through my hands and scuttled away — but blessedly, she didn’t fly.
On my second try, I got her. Pinned her wings right to her sides and gathered her against my chest, where she rested without a struggle, peering up at me with a shiny, button eye. She sleeps safely now amid her flock.
Maybe I should add duck wrangling to my resume. I think I will. Who wants to work for an employer without a sense of humor?
Besides, cool I am not, but if you’re in the market for a renaissance woman, I’ve gotcha covered.