Birth Announcement

The Flamingos are pleased to announce the arrival of these:

I think there are fifteen itty bitty wittle duckies in that picture. Let's try counting them in this one:

Dangit. Lost two already -- it's like me chaperoning a kindergarten class to Busch Gardens for crying out loud. Here -- let's try again:

Hmm. Still thirteen. I hope those other two aren't trapped under that grassy mossy thing that is trying to overtake our creek. Didn't I count fifteen in the first picture?

There they are -- see, there's one little ducky booty way over there on the left. And there are two more close up against Mama Duck.

Joe thinks that these sweet wittle duckie-poos would have a better chance at survival if we lured them away from their mother and raised them ourselves. I have mentioned, haven't I, that Joe has some interesting theories about what's best for animals? He's not really a fan of that whole "survival of the fittest" nonsense. (Remind me to tell you about the "pinky" mice that he was supposed to feed to the neighbor's snake but that ended up living to adulthood under Joe's nurturing care. In our garage. Outside of their cage. And when I threatened to set traps, he took them to an RV storage lot and set them free under someone's motorhome. They're probably visiting the Grand Canyon as we speak.) As it is, one or two of the ducklings will be picked off by an alligator, on or two by the otters, and one or two by the osprey. Do otters eat ducklings? Do osprey? I don't know. And I don't care what Joe says, they're not coming onto our porch, or heaven forbid, into the house. I refuse to scrape duck poop off the porch -- I've already done that for the roosters (the ones that "got lost" -- "in a storm") and we're not going back there.