I went out to feed the Quack Pack this morning as usual and found another 2 duck eggs. Upon closer inspection I noticed one is thinner, more elongated and more equally sized at both ends. The other is shaped more like a jumbo plus sized chicken's egg. I could very well be wrong (it wouldn't be the first time) but I'm thinking the longer is a Runner and the fatter is a Rouen.
It's a mere 5 days until Christmas but if the girls keep up the good work I'll have a dozen farm fresh duck eggs to give my mom for Christmas. She's nigh onto impossible to buy for as she has at least one of everything she could possibly want or need. But she's also an old school farm girl, she told me that she and my dad had ducks back too far for me to remember. I do recall as far back as I can that her parents, my grandmaw and pawpaw had chickens.
Hey! Who can say "no" to free food especially when it's farm fresh?
A quick story about grandmaw & pawpaw's chickens... Back when I was a wee fart neither set of my grandparents had indoor toilets. They had running water in the kitchen but other needs were taken care of elsewhere. We bathed in a #2 wash tub in the back yard. Other bodily functions were managed in a little shed farther out from the house. All lived far enough out of city (or town) limits that their chickens were 101% free range. Anyway G&P had one mean ass old rooster that probably didn't weigh much less than I did as a skinny young lad (or so he looked to me at the time). This cantankerous old cob loved nothing more than to make my life miserable. One day I was trying to get past that old cob to make a trip to the outhouse when he appeared and stood his ground about halfway between where I was and where I needed to be. What he failed to recall was that Pawpaw had an old brown mongrel dog, Brownie who was a close personal friend of mine. Good chance Brownie didn't like this rooster anyway. But as I had the rooster's attention out of the corner of my eye I saw a brown comet come around the corner at full tilt. Brownie to my rescue! He T-boned that rooster and all I heard was one very loud thud followed by Brownie growling and snarling, the rooster screeching for dear life! They rolled over and over each other probably a dozen times or more, some 10 yards. Finally Brownie figured he'd best not kill the old rooster or he'd get in trouble so he relinquished his grip.
And... that old bastard rooster to the day he died always got a nervous look in his eye and ran like Satan was coming for him every time he saw me. And I always managed to sneak a little treat for Brownie whenever we sat down to eat.
Thanks for everything, Brownie! I'll always remember and love you dearly, my old friend!
Rest In Peace.
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