Actually three sitting ducks.
One beside the front steps,
One in the woodpile,
And one in the barn ( in the dark ). I saw her, she hissed at me from the gloom – but it was too dark for a picture. I bet there are more sitting hidden in the trees but we must not raise our hopes – they may be infertile like last years duck egg hatching attempt. They still feel like promises though.
Incredible how they sit for weeks like that without moving. They all have water and food nearby but I don’t see evidence of eating. Or drinking for that matter – it is the way of birds I guess.
I miss home a lot lately.
I find myself stranded behind my mask at a loss as to what to say. Ordinary things seem so trite now. I have been told more than once that I don’t understand – I never grew up here – and that is true – so I do stuff more than say stuff now.
Getting back to the farm in daylight is a blessing – every evening Sheila is sitting at her gate waiting for me. Literally sitting at her gate. John says he does not see her all day. I think she just waits until she hears my car then comes out into her field for her vegetables and a drink and a scratch and then while Poppy is vacuuming up the left-overs Sheila and I walk slowly back to the barn and I help her make her bed. She is an old pig now. Tall and long with less teeth. But still my lovely girl.
Tima waits at her gate too. John is forbidden from feeding her – she got so fat she was having trouble breathing and I could hear her snoring from my bedroom. So she is in the diet field and I feed her at night. No grains at all ever for that pig.
I hope you are well and hanging in there.