#we were outside hiding eggs for some kiddies

[whimsyprinx]

got a jacket from @morningwitchy recently and finally got the chance to wear it! I love it so much it’s unreal

[slashingdisneypasta]

Could you do some cute baking shenanigans for Laughing Jack?

Sure thing! 

To be honest, I have no idea what this mess is but its quite interesting? Haha

~~~

After a day of sitting in my new bedroom, in my new house, ignoring the world and generally having a wonderful time, I decide to finally emerge from my cave of comfort and happiness at nearly 6 in the afternoon to re-greet L.J, who’s been watching TV in the living room all day. Creeping up on him, I giggle when the palms of my hands land on his feathered shoulders -so soft! - and he jumps under my touch from surprise.

“L.Jayyyyyy,”

“So, the monster surfaces.” He whispers, then turns his head, fluffy hair brushing across my cheek as he does, and plants a kiss to my cheek. When he pulls back, he halts short, and quickly asks- “Ah, Y/N, do we live in a school district now?”

“What is this ‘we’? You paid for nothing in this house?”

“Yeah, but I eat all your food and watch all your TV; Therefore, I live here.”

I’m not entirely sure that does, in fact, eat all my food. Sure, I see him eat all the sweet things but I have never seen his lips touch any of the veggies or meats that periodically go missing. I have a theory that he’s keeping Offender fed, wherever he’s hiding out this time- the man hasn’t been seen since he showed up at the mansion 2 months ago in a drug fuelled haze, but L.J always has an update on him.

Besides, I can’t cook anyway and tend to end up ordering takeout, so its probably better this way. It would all go to waste. “Mm.” I tilt my head earnestly, letting go of him and instead resting my forearms on the back of the couch by him. “So, you’re a freeloader.”

He just bares his teeth in mirthless smile. “So, school district?” I sigh, deflating.

“No, course not.” I take his chin between my fingers and jostle his head sternly from one side to the other. “I wouldn’t stick you right in the middle of kiddy-town. Ever.”

“Damn it. Well, what do you wanna do for the rest of your day?” L.J deflates as well, slouching in his seat and looking forward again with a slight pout at not having been served victims on a silver platter with apples in their mouths. The corner of my mouth twitches up a few times, awkwardly, before I get off the back of the couch and head for the kitchen.

“I have an idea!”

He meets me in the kitchen, long stripy arms held tightly behind his bony back in curiosity. “Ooh, what is it?”

“Baking!” I rummage through the pantry for a moment, before coming out with my arms full of baking things - baking powder, flour, b-carb soda, food colouring, vanilla essence, and various cake mixes, -  struggling to get them to the bench before anything fell and made a huge, flowery mess as L.J just watches, not even thing about lift a claw in assistance as his eyes follow me. When I finally drop everything down onto the counter, a little pack of jelly crystals flops to the floor and I pop down to my knees to pick it up. When I get back on my feet, I’m surprised to see L.J excitedly sifting through all the things.

Smirking at a couple different bottles in between his claws, L.J asks. “Say, don’t you need milk and butter and stuff to bake?”

“I’m getting to that, you exasperation!”

He just laughs.

___TIME SKIP: Minutes Later___

“Okay, so, the recipe says- ah!” A gasp rips from my throat when suddenly the Betty Crocker’s box mix is slapped up towards the ceiling and firmly out my hands without so much as a warning. “What??”

“No recipes!” L.J, not wearing an apron or a hat or having even so much as put his hair up, but has rolled up his sleeves to reveal -old,- bandaged arms, rests his fists on his hips and looks at the ingredients he set up all in a row from biggest to smallest like he’s Columbus and they are the America’s he just pulled his ship up by.

“No recipes?!”

He turns on me. “Do you wanna hear it in Spanish??”

Sighing, I look back at the now daunting task. “No… “

“Good.” Connecting his claws so they’re spread over his knuckles, twisting his wrists so his knuckles face him, L.J pushes them forward to stretch out his arms. “Lets go!”

As he starts picking ingredients out at random like Drop Dead Fred making a Vodka and Pants Pie, I pout to my fallen compatriot- the box mix packet which has fallen on the floor in a corner.

“Recipe… “

“What was that?!”

“Nothing!”

I may have made a huge mistake asking L.J to bake with me.

___TIME SKIP: “  “ ___

Oh merciful God, I know we’ve had a tremulous relationship as of late, with me being with L.J and everything, out of wedlock to boot, but please, oh God, do not let him destroy my new home!! I’m still paying off debts!!

Biting my thumb nail and hugging my stomach, I nervously watch L.J sift in what I know in my heart to be too much self-raising flower but am telling myself could be just the right amount, flashing him a smile around my nail when he glances excitedly at me for encouragement.

“There! Bee-you-tee-full! Now, the flavour. Hm.” Fists on hips and chest puffed out, he looks thoughtful; Truly, a child at heart. And… at… claw point- every Tuesday. “Flavour, flavour, flavour, flaaaa-vore. Hm. Flavour, flaver- Flavour! Ah!” In a flash of black and white, as while L.J was sifting random white powers into the big mixing bowl his sleeves had slipped back down, he grabs some random jars from a random shelf and starts shaking random… orange… dusts into the mixture.

“Uh, L.J, what’re those?”

“Flavour! Something to spice it up!”

“Yeah, I got that, but what kinda flav-“ I pick up a jar once he’s done with it, and see that he’s literally pulled from the spice shelf and sigh. Why am I not surprised? “Cayenne Pepper.”

L.J winks, leaning to the side to bump his elbow into my shoulder. “Secret ingredient.”

Ah… obviously.

Despite my nerves, which I’ve learnt to just go with in L.J’s presence, I flash him a toothless smile back.

___TIME SKIP: “  “ ___

After he shoo’s me towards the bowl so I can crack the eggs and pour in the milk, -‘adult jobs’, he says as he goes and opens a bottle of vodka, sniffing it and taking too-large mouthfuls, - I blow a raspberry at him.

And after I’m finished with that, we get the electric mixer going and each take turns serenely letting drops of randomly coloured food die into the bowl, leaning on the bench together and leaning over the thing like it’s a damn pot vaporiser.

Drop.

“L.J, are you happy? You know, killing children and all that.”

Drop.  

“Yeah, I think so. Are you happy in your lawyering job?”

Drop.

“Law Practise, L.J. And yes.”

Drop.

“Ah, okay then.”

Drop.

Drop.

Drop.

“… L.J, are you harbouring Offender in the basement?”

“… L.J?”

He turns around abruptly, and cups my face; Claws resting along my cheeks and rubbing - or scraping gently in his case, - across, leaving wet blue food die on my skin. He tilts his head and smiles softly. “I love you.”

“… Okay so I’ll take that as a yes.”

Drop.

The mixture turns into a yucky brown mess, because it was whipped for too long, but feel like we aired out a lot of mess between so- Worth it.

Then we pop it in the oven and go back to watch more TV.

Rango is on.

___TIME SKIP: The Cake… or whatever… is now baked___

One Rango is over, and L.J and I have counted every background character for no reason, I finally smell the smoke through my sniffles -from standing over the spicey cake mix,- and remember the cake.

Gasping, I turn to L.J with wide eyes. A millisecond later, I kick off the couch and rush to the kitchen yelling to L.J about the cake.

“The wot?” Has he honestly become that invested in Rango to forget about his masterpiece??

Panicking, I rush to put on an oven mitt and make sure to open the oven door with my uncovered hand before waiving the grey smoke out of my face and standing up straight again to get away from the asthma inducing mess after I do so. I cough. “Oh jesus.”

“Oh! The CAKE!” L.J yells from the livingroom and pops up beside me, his teleportation only adding purple smoke and yellow sparks to the nasty grey smoke cloud wafting from the oven. He promptly takes a step back and waives his own hand- but doesn’t cough. Does he have lungs? “Oh, baby girl, what have you done?”

“I hope you were referring to the cake, there, L.J.” He is not blaming me for this mess-

“Oh- I was!”

“Right.” After setting him with a threatening squinty look, looking back only for a second because I don’t think my stare was quite withering enough, I look back to the oven and turn all the knobs down. Then I step back, open the fridge and retrieve the orange juice, and then finally go out to the backyard- something we probably should have done at five today instead of this baking disaster.

I open windows as I go.

“Well, come on L.J! It’ll take a while for that to cool down, we’re outside till then.”

“Ooooh, outside!”  

[jj-lynn21]

Cozy Cove:  A side of tits with your pancakes

song: Creedence Clearwater Revival - Suzie Q. warnings: light smut perhaps, cheesy romance most definitely, a dash of angst.

Saved by an Angel , A side of tits with your pancakes ,Fires Burn Hot , spending the nights , Learning and Loving , The end id not always the end,    Axel Grease, Big Decisions, Sex and Jet Skis, Late night fun , Old Wounds , Storms pass , Dangerous Waters

Susie relaxes in a lounge chair on the sand a few feet away from the beach cottage she is staying at with her parents. The sun is already hot at early day break. Her iced mocha is beside her. A book, California dreaming, is in her hand.

 Axel saunters up throwing his shadow over her. She grins internally, but keeps reading as if she doesn't notice.

"Hey," He bounces from one foot to other nervously, "What's up?"

"Reading," She didn't look at him when she answered. "No dangerous activities to do this morning?"

Axel  chuckled, "not at the moment." He runs his hand through his hair winces as he goes over the stitches. He keeps forgetting they are there until he touches them. "You want to go for a walk on the beach? That shouldn't put me in too much peril."

Susie taps the front of her book with one finger.

"Oh, yeah you're reading," He bounces a little more before he turns to walk away ego a little deflated. "I guess. I'll catch ya later."

She rolls her eyes as she closes her book with a bookmarker saving her place. "Maybe, you will catch me." 

She giggles and he turns back around surprised. "I didn't think you would give up so easily Axel." She gets up and runs down the empty beach. 

Axel runs after her. "I just knew you wanted to be chased. I wanted you to get a good head start Susie Q." 

Her Mother has been watching her and the tattooed local from the kitchen window. "What do think of this, Richard?" Her Mother motions for her Father to also eavesdrop. "I'm not so sure she should be hanging around with a local that probably goes through vacationing women like tissue."

Susie's Father glances out the window, "He looks pretty nervous to me. That is not the stance of a regular local predator. Plus, Susie is twenty-seven years old, and she has made good decisions in her life so far. Let her have some fun. We have to trust we raised a strong girl, Sandra."

"I suppose we do," She takes a deep breath as she sees her daughter run off laughing and the boy running after her daughter down the beach until they are too far to see.

 Susie runs down the beach laughing until she can barely catch her breath. When Axel catches up, he grabs her from behind picking her up. He spins as she kicks her feet outward until he falls back on the sand. 

Susie looks up in his memorizing emerald eyes, "I guess you caught me, Axel."

Axel has his elbow propping up his head in the sand as he catches his breath, "I think you wanted me to catch you, Susie Q." He smiles as his free hand runs up her side moving to go under her tank top. 

Susie pushes his hand down to her hip. "I'm not as easy as other vacationers you might have been involved with."

He puts his hands behind his head before laying back. "I'm not fucking every female that comes through town like that. I have had relationships with some local chicks that didn't work out for a multitude of reasons and on occasion I have had fun with those that come to vacation her but I don't make it a habit. I learned most people that vacation here use me as part of the atmosphere. Just another vacation story to tell their friends. I don't want to be a good vacation story. I rather be a good friend someone makes while vacationing and maybe even keep in touch. Its stupid thinking really." He sighs deeply looking up at the puffy white clouds floating in the blue sky of sunshine.

She leans over on his shoulder. "Sorry Axel. To many guys are assholes."

He puts an arm around her and runs the tips of his finger over her arm. "I know. Is this ok?"

"Yeah," she got chills from the sensation but it was nice. 

They laid there in a comfortable silence watching the clouds pass for longer than they realized. Axel's stomach made an audible growling sound.  

"Have you had breakfast yet?" He kept his eyes up and his fingers gliding up and down her arm. 

"No, just most of my coffee," She had to admit she was hungry. 

"I know a place we can get the best pancakes and eggs," He got up and offered her his hand.

She jumped up letting him help her but had a huge smirk on her face, "Let me guess, your place?"

"Boy you have run into some assholes," He shook his head. "We are going to Karen's. Its the diner in town. Best pancakes and eggs you will ever have. I promise you that."

"Let's go," She smiled. 

They walk hand-in-hand over to his motorcycle. He gets on and grabs the keys waiting for Susie to join him. 

She gets on the back reluctantly. "Is this thing really safe without a helmet?"

Axel starts the cycle revving it a little, "The safest thing you will have vibrating between your legs this summer."

"What was that?" She yells over the rev.

"Just hold on Susie Q." He starts off.

She wraps her arms around his middle laying her head against his back. Axel goes the speed limit for once since he got the beast. Its twenty-five through town, and he barely goes that fast wanting her to get use to the riding before showing her what real power can feel like at a good speed. She leans with him into the turns which take her breath away. It is scary but also exhilarating. They pull in behind the restaurant in minutes. 

Axel walks her around the building to the entrance where he sees his brothers and co-workers inside. He freezes, "Maybe we should come back after the breakfast crowd clears out?"

"Don't be silly,": She slaps his chest. "Its not that crowded."

"Yeah, alright," He quickly drags her through the restaurant to a booth he thinks is a little more secluded. Puts the menus up to hide them even more just at the waitress comes over to take their order.

"What will it be?" The young waitress looks to Axel with a big smile. "Hey Axel, the usual today?"

"That would be great Jen." He smiles back.

"Are you working this afternoon," She bites at the inside of her lip. "I have been meaning to stop by for you to check under my hood. Could use an oil change or something more." She doesn't even choose to notice Susie.

"I probably have time to give your car an oil change," Axel rubbed the back of his neck. "I work two until ten tonight. Susie is going to get the same breakfast as I do. I told her they make the best pancakes in town here." Axel reach over to told Susie's hand.

"Oh hey," Jen finally acknowledged her. "Oranges juices with that?"

They both nodded yes. Axel's brother Josh noticed them just as the waitress walked away. He hoped over the seat beside Susie and put his arm around her. "If you ever want a man that will save you instead of you having to save him, I'm around, babe." 

Axel glared at him. He was just about to call him out when Susie spoke up as she pulled away from Josh, "Go play in the kiddy pool," She stared at Josh coldly. "The only one that needs saving is you if you don't remove your arm."

Josh jumps back removing his arm and laughs, "Alright miss feisty." He stands and slaps Axel's shoulder as everyone stares at the situation. 

Axel smirks, "Don't you have to get to work. The beach opens to the public in ten minutes."

"Yeah man, I'll catch you later at the bonfire tonight." He walks out still a little stunned the vacationer put him in his place like that.

"Here you go summer girl," Jen put their drinks on the table. "Axel, she smiles. Pancakes and eggs will be right up sweet boy."

Axel blushes, "Thanks Jen."

Susie smirked, "You date her or something?"

"I would maybe rank it under or something," Axel fumbled with her fingers in his hand. "You sure put Josh in his place quickly. I was about to deck him, Susie Q.:"

"And then I take both of you bleeding to your Father?" She chuckled. "Glad I spoke up when I did then. Let's try to keep you from getting hurt the rest of the time I am here." 

"No promises but I'll do my best." Axel chuckled, "You want to go..."

"Here is your pancakes and eggs," Jen smiles showing off the deep cleavage of her tight uniform that hugged every curve perfectly. "And multi syrups since i know you like variety."

He look up at her eyes, "Thanks, this will do fine for now." 

Susie sat back crossing her arm just waiting for the waitress to leave. As soon as Jen left she leaned  forward again as Axel started to eat. "You were saying before the waitress put her tits in your face?"

Axel swallowed his bite. It felt heavy in his throat as he heard Susie's claim which he knew was true. He took a big gulp of his juice before answering. "Susie Q. will you go to the bonfire with me tonight after I get off work? Or maybe just meet me there if you don't want to wait until close to eleven to go?"

"I will think about it." She pours some pecan syrupy on her pancakes. "So what is with the Susie Q. shit anyway?" She said gruffly. She is unsure if she wants to go to some townie bonfire with Axel's asshole brother, probably his other asshole brother and more chicks falling all over Axel that he fucked. The more she thought about it the more pissed off she got which she tried to hide on the outside by stabbing her food to eat it. 

"That's cool," Axel takes another bite of his breakfast looking around. "You need to hear something to know why I like calling you Susie Q." He gets up and goes to the Jukebox updated with digital recordings but still older music from the 50s, 60s and 70s. He pushed a few buttons and a song started playing. He sat back down. 

"This is one of my favorite songs on here for some reason." He finishes his orange juice as the long musical interlude played on. "It is called Suzie Q. by Creedence Clearwater Revival."

Susie gives him a half smile. Her anger still slightly bubbling. What breaks her is when Axel begins to sing. He sings bad. Really awful actually, but there is a lot of heart behind it.

Axel sings: Oh, Susie Q, Oh, Susie Q Oh, Susie Q, Baby I love you, Susie Q I like the way you walk I like the way you talk I like the way you walk I like the way you talk, Susie Q

Well, say that you'll be true well, say that you'll be true, Well, say that you'll be true and never leave me blue, Susie Q

Well, say that you'll be mine well, say that you'll be mine, Well, say that you'll be mine, baby all the time, Susie Q

Oh Susie Q, Oh Susie Q Oh Susie Q, Baby I love you, Susie Q

I like the way you walk I like the way you talk I like the way you walk I like the way you talk, Susie Q.

Oh Susie Q, Oh susie Q Oh Susie Q, Baby I love you, Susie Q 

The restaurant clears out his singing is so bad.. Or maybe everyone is done with their breakfast ready to open other local business to the tourists staying or coming in for the day. Susie is laughing and smiling. It is a little embarrassing but also real sweet.. "I get it now Axel. I get it and I love it."

His brother Eric walks over to him with a coffee to go before he starts his construction job. He leans down to whisper, "Maybe, you shouldn't sing in public." He looks to Susie with a smile. "Good to see you again. Susie, is it?"

"Yes, and you are?" Susie smirked.

"This is my older brother Eric." Axel introduces them. "Eric, Susie is the girl that saved me."

"I figured." Alex took a sip of his coffee. "Have a good day. I'm bringing my guitar tonight and you will hear some good singing." he chuckles as he leaves.

"All your brothers like to bust your balls, don't they?" Susie suggested.

Jen came to clear the dishes. Her breasts blatantly tosses in Axel's view again. "Two checks today?"

Susie said, "Yes."

Axel looked around the waitress, "No, let me get it as a thank you, Susie Q."

Susie nodded, "Ok, one check." She smiled taking his hand as she ignored the waitress.

Axel paid and they walked out to his motorcycle. He sits on the edge and pulls her between his legs. "Sorry, that wasn't the nice breakfast I want to have with you."

"The Pancakes were excellent as you said they would be." She ran her fingers through his hair. "But I could have done without the side of tits."

They both laughed.

[kumeko]

Title: deck the halls

A/N: For @miraworos for the Good Omens exchange run by @not-a-fucking-pogo-stick! I didn’t get to put much Newt in here, but I hope you like the rest of it. I really like writing Crowley’s voice.

…

…

…

…

There were many things that Crowley expected to do on Christmas: tempt a few souls to the dark side, vandalize some displays, drink wine while looking down his nose at all the children squealing about a man breaking into their house. Hell, maybe, if he was feeling festive enough, he could dress up as that hulking behemoth and cause a little trouble.

 Anything, really, to help a few kiddies get on the naughty list.

 What he did not expect to do was stand on the staircase of a common suburban house, wrapping the rail in ribbon. Crowley frowned, staring at the red lace in his hand, and then down to the bottom of the staircase where Aziraphale was humming some inane Christmas song as he added pinecones to every flat surface he could find.

 Even the tops of smoke detectors were not safe.

“Hey, angel, doesn’t this feel, oh, I don’t know, a little odd to you?” Crowley asked, fiddling with the edges of the ribbon. Maybe he should have brought this up earlier. Like the second they had entered the house and were handed a box of decorations and very detailed instructions on what to do. Or before that, when Aziraphale had brought up the suggestion. Well, no, considering how pleased Aziraphale had been when Crowley had agreed, there was no way he could have dashed his spirits then.

 Aziraphale stopped humming, placing one last silver pinecone on a corner shelf. Wiping his hands in a satisfied manner, he went to the bottom of the stairs and looked up at Crowley, a bemused expression on his face. “What is?”

 “This? All of it?” Crowley gestured at the entire front foyer. A front foyer that they had decorated—the walls were covered in bows and bells, streamers were strung at the entrance way, and stars and mistletoe hung at random intervals. To be honest, this was probably why one shouldn’t have both an angel and a demon decorate together—Aziraphale had always had a tacky taste in fashion and Crowley didn’t know if his own refined palette could fix the issue.

 Probably not. At least it was a charming fault to have.

 “What, you don’t like the decorations?” Aziraphale asked, his brow knitted. He scratched his cheek as he stared at the bows sadly. “I did want to make those bigger but the ribbons…they just weren’t the right size.”

 “Of course I don’t like the decorations, but that’s besides the point.” Crowley crossed his arms, tapping his foot on the ground. “It’s Christmas.”

 “Yes, that’s why we’re here,” Aziraphale replied, not quite following.

 “Doesn’t it seem just a little…wrong to you? A demon, celebrating Christmas? Or for either of us to be putting up decorations?” Crowley gestured vaguely above him. “Like, I don’t know if anyone up there likes what happened to this whole ‘son of god’s birthday’ thing, but down there—actually, wait, that we might be the reason this happened in the first place.” He narrowed his eyes, trying to remember, but the centuries were long, packed full of mischief, and he had never really participated in any of North America’s issues.

 And North America was undoubtedly where this had to have started. Otherwise Crowley would have had a hand on this commercialization, it was such a big project they couldn’t have ignored him.

 “No, not really,” Aziraphale replied brightly. “I mean, we’re not exactly proper demons or angels, are we? Besides, it’s good to catch up with everyone.”

 “Ok, but see, that’s another issue with this.” Crowley walked down the stairs and wrapped an arm around Aziraphale. Leaning close, he continued, “We were invited to this party, right?”

 “Right,” Aziraphale nodded, his expression serious.

 “This is the witch’s house. We’re her guests.” When it was clear Aziraphale didn’t get it, Crowley sighed and spelled it out clearly for him. “Why are we decorating the house for her?”

 Aziraphale sharply turned and stared him, like he was the idiot. “Because she’s busy cooking and setting up and we’re being helpful.”

 “Again, demon. I’m not supposed to be helpful,” Crowley replied, rolling his eyes. Maybe he should go to the kitchen instead and steal some food. Do some actual demon duties for once.

 “Oh, come on, Crowley. Just help out a little, it’ll be fun.” Aziraphale smiled brightly, leaning closer and pecking him on the cheek. “Besides, you were a nanny for years, I’m sure you’ve done this before.”

 Crowley coughed, trying to hide the growing blush on his cheeks. Sometimes, this body was so inconvenient like that. He missed being cold-blooded. “Then why aren’t you outside fixing the garden instead of letting that witch hunter do it? You were a gardener.””

 “Well, I wasn’t very good at it.” Aziraphale sheepishly rubbed his neck, his skin turning a delectable shade of pink. “It took a few, ahem, miracles to let me keep the job.”

 “You used miracles? For something like that?” And here Crowley thought he’d been wasteful. He’d been right all along, Aziraphale really ought to come over to the demon side. For neglect, if nothing else.

 Whatever shoddy defense Aziraphale was going to come up with was cut off as Anathema poked her head into the foyer. “All done?” Without even waiting for a reply, she scanned the area and stopped at the bannister. “You didn’t finish the railing.”

 “I am not going to,” Crowley replied with a shrug.

 “Right.” She bit her lip as she studied him. Her brow furrowed and she turned to Aziraphale with a bright smile. “But you’ll do it, right?”

 “I would be honoured,” Aziraphale beamed, already bouncing toward the stairs and the dangling ribbon. “How’s the kitchen? All done?”

 “…kinda.” Anathema sighed wearily, her shoulders drooping. “I haven’t really had much of a chance to, well, cook something this big you know. I never needed to. Adam’s been lovely, helping me as much as he could—he and his friends brought recipes from their mums. Full credit to him but well, we’ll see how it all ends up.” She paused, glancing from one to the other. “You guys do eat, right?”

 “We don’t have to but I do quite enjoy eating.” Aziraphale threaded the ribbon in and out of the rails, before taping it to the bottom. “It has evolved so much over the years.”

 “Tell me about it.” Crowley grimaced, remembering some of the earlier ‘delicacies’. Calling them food was an affront to food. “You can’t just toss things on a fire and consider it done. I spent three decades ignoring it—you mastered alcohol far quicker than food.”

 “Right.” Anathema pursed her lips, a strained smile on her face. “That’s…interesting, I guess.”

 “What is?” Adam popped out behind her. One arm was wrapped around a bowl with bits of brown batter in it, the other held a spoon that he slowly licked.

 “They’re—wait, did you finish making the cookies before you ate that?” Anathema frowned. “And I’m not sure if you should eat that, isn’t there a raw egg in it? Is that safe?”

 “Safe enough.” Adam shrugged. “Oh, and I think something’s burning.”

 Anathema paled. Now that Adam had mentioned it, Crowley could see a faint plume of black escaping the kitchen. She turned on her heel and dashed back to the kitchen, fast enough to give even an Olympic sprinter competition. “SHIT!”

 “You couldn’t have stopped that?” Crowley asked, turning back to Adam. His ex-charge? His boss’s ex-son? While it was great that they’d changed reality and all that, it really made it hard to keep track of relationships.

 “It was brussel sprouts.” Adam scowled, looking extremely disgusted. “I did us a favour.”

 “Did you?” Aziraphale twiddled his fingers, looking a little put down. “I like brussel sprouts.”

 “That’s cause you’re an angel. Only reason,” Adam snorted derisively. He scooped up another spoonful of batter but stopped short of eating it. “Oh, that reminds me—so, you know how Christmas is Jesus’s birthday?”

 “Yeah, yeah,” Crowley gestured for him to continue, tired of the subject.

 “Well, I was the son of Satan. How come my birthday’s not a holiday?” Adam asked grumpily.

 “Well…” Aziraphale swallowed, running a hand through his curly mop of hair. “That’s…uh, well you see, your birthday would have caused the end of the world, and there can’t really be holidays after that, and you’re no longer his son…and…well…”

 Adam continued to stare at him, slowly eating his batter. “And?”

 Aziraphale turned to Crowley. “And?” he asked desperately.

 Crowley walked over, wrapped an arm around Adam’s shoulders, and smiled. “And that is a marvelous idea.”

 Aziraphale realized his mistake too late. “No.”

 “We should go pitch it, make a real go at it. Satan’s son’s birthday—we need a catchy name, something to compete with this whole Christmas thing,” Crowley continued, ignoring Aziraphale’s protests.

 “Oh.” Adam lit up. “I like the sound of that.”

[yurtletheturtlehenderson]

S.T REWRITE - S1:E7; Chapter Seven, The Bathtub - [Pt. 3 - FINAL PART]

A Will Byers x Reader Series

While on the run, Y/n uncovers a startling truth. Eleven struggles to contact Will and the party joins forces with Joyce and Hopper.

Warnings: unedited (kinda?)

||Reader's POV||

The sun had set behind the trees by the time the chief's car pulled up in front of the Byers home. Strangely, it feels like years since we were last here when it had only been three days ago. As we all exited the vehicle, three figures emerged from the house; Nancy, Jonathan, and Ms. Byers.

"Mike. Oh, my God. Mike!" Nancy exclaimed, running towards Mike.

He stepped forward and she engulfed him in a hug.

Grabbing him by the shoulders, she pulled away. "I was so worried about you." She scolded.

"Yeah, uh... me, too." He said awkwardly.

Nancy's eyes trailed over to El and an odd look crossed her face and she tilted her head slightly.

"Is that my dress?"

El looked to me not knowing what to do and then back at the older girl. For some reason, and what I can only assume to be my state of mind and being under so much stress i begin to chuckle, finding the whole situation kinda funny.

+++

"Okay, so, in this example, we're the acrobat."

We had all made it inside and currently, we were all gathered around the living room. The boys, El and I were sitting on the floor surrounding the coffee table while the others were seated on the furniture. Mike had drawn up Mr. Clark's diagram of the flea and the acrobat and was catching everybody else up with what we've learned so far. They all stayed quiet for the most part -occasionally jumping in to ask clarifying questions which we were more than happy to answer - and listened intently. I, however, remained quiet. I was still trying to process what had happened during my encounter with the men. I was also transfixed in the living room around me. Wondering how the once welcoming and cozy second home had changed so drastically.

"Will and Barbara, and that monster, they're this flea. And this is the Upside Down, where Will is hiding. Mr. Clarke said that the only way to get there is through a rip of time and space,"

"A gate," Dustin interjected.

"That we tracked to Hawkins Lab"

"With our compasses,"

"And El's help of course," I added, smiling at El who shyly returned it.

The others exchanged confused glances.

Dustin took this as his cue to talk.

"Okay, so the gate has a really strong electromagnetic field, and that can change the directions of a compass needle.

Hopper spoke up for the first time in a while.

"Is this gate underground?"

Surprising us all, El answered almost immediately. "Yes."

The two made eye contact. "Near a large water tank?" He asked.

She nodded and her gaze dropped to the floor. "Yes."

Beginning to feel more on edge, I spoke up, my voice faltering. "H-How do you know all that?"

The man said nothing and only kept his gaze. Mike looked to the drawing. "He's seen it."

I frowned at his odd behavior and I didn't try to hide my confusion and anxiety from him, I then dropped my gaze to my hands, growing tenser at the thought that these horrible people could be out to get me.

Ms. Byers spoke up, addressing El. "Is there any way that you could... that you could reach Will? That you could talk to him in this--"

"The Upside Down." El finished.

Joyce's voice fell into a whisper. "Down. Yeah."

El nodded her head yes.

"And my friend Barbara?" Nancy spoke up hesitantly. "Can you find her, too?"

I could see the confidence build in El and it was then that I knew she was willing do everything she could to help us.

+++

We were all gathered around the dining room table, watching with bated breath as El attempted to find Will and Barb. She had breifly explained that she could sometimes find people telepathically somehow. She required white noise, hence Will's walkie was on the table, switched to a blank station so static filled the silence and she had her eyes closed.

Nancy had offered a once torn up photo of Barb sitting on the edge of a pool as a reference for El. What felt like minutes passed and suddenly the lamp overhead flickered and El opened her eyes. Her voice was hoarse.

"I'm sorry."

"What? What's wrong? What's happened?" Mrs. Byers stuttered.

El was blinking back tears and her voice broke. "I can't find them."

+++

El had excused herself to the bathroom, probably to catch her breath. I just hope she wasn't blaming herself. The rest of us are still at the kitchen table, processing everything. My attention was pulled to the boys when they began elaborating more on her powers.

"Whenever she uses her powers, she gets weak." Mike said.

My head perked up at this.

"The more energy she uses, the more tired she gets," Dustin added.

I've had a lot of time to think about what had happened and what I had done earlier today and in that time I could never help but assume that however, whenever El got her powers, I got mine. Whatever it may be, we must be connected somehow.

I recalled that in the short time I've known her and seen her use her powers, I've seen the toll it takes on her.

If it makes her weak, that must have been why I passed out earlier... my body had never grown accustomed to the exertion.

"Like, she flipped a van earlier."

"It was awesome."

"But she's drained."

"Like a bad battery."

I sat there, my eyes glued to the floor as I listened to the boys unknowingly talk about the similarities between me and El.

I felt a pair of eyes on me and I hesitantly lifted my head and briefly made eye contact with the chief who seemed the slightest bit suspicious of me. I quickly looked away and tried to focus back on the group.

"Well..." Ms. Byers stuttered. "How do we make her better?"

"We don't. We just have to wait and try again." Mike said.

"Well, how long?" Nancy asked.

Mike shrugged his shoulders weakly. "I don't know."

"The bath." El's quiet voice grabbed everyone's attention and we all turned to see her standing just outside the kitchen.

"What?" I asked.

"I can find them." She seemed very hesitant, almost afraid of what she was going to say next. "In the bath."

+++

Well, this is happening.

We really are calling our science teacher at ten o'clock on a Saturday and asking about sensory deprivation tanks and how to build them.

That won't be weird at all.

Nevertheless, we all watched nervously as Dustin stood by the phone and made the call.

"Mr. Clarke? It's Dustin."

"..."

"Yeah, yeah. I just, I... I have a science question,"

I cringed, unable to imagine any scenario in which this would pan out.

"..."

"Do you know anything about sensory deprivation tanks? Specifically how to build one?"

I run my hands through my hair.

"..."

"Fun."

I furrowed my brows and then sighed defeatedly before putting my face in my hands.

"..."

"You always say we should never stop being curious. To always open any curiosity door we find. Why are you keeping this curiosity door locked?"

I couldn't help but let a small chuckle escape, slightly impressed he threw Mr. Clarke's words back in his face and I looked back up.

"..."

All of the sudden Dustin motioned for something to write on and with and Jonathan grabbed a spare notepad and a pencil and Dustin sat at the table, listening to the instructions and writing them down.

"Uh-huh... uh-huh. How much? Uh-huh. Yep, all right. Yeah, we'll be careful. Definitely. All right, Mr. Clarke. Yeah, I'll see you on Monday. I'll see you on Monday, Mr. Clarke bye." Dustin quickly trailed off and was quick to hang up the phone.

"Do you still have that kiddie pool we bobbed for apples in?" Dustin asked Ms. Byers almost immediately after hanging up.

"Uhh, I think so, yeah."

"Good. Then we just need salt. Lots of it."

"How much is 'lots'?" The chief asked.

Dustin took a look at the notepad and looked back at the chief.

"1,500 pounds."

"Well, where are we gonna get that much salt?" Nancy asked the question everybody seemed to be wondering.

+++

The school. It was the chiefs idea. We all headed to the school, taking separate cars.

The chief and Jonathan went to the shed to grab the bags of salt, Mike and Nancy were getting the hoses while Dustin, Lucas and I set up the pool in the gym.

"Damn, this thing is heavy." Dustin panted as we both rolled the folded up kiddie pool to the center of the gym.

Together we undid the ropes holding it together and attempted to unfold it. After much trial and error we finally were able to get the pool set up. The water temperature had been tested just as much as the bouncy of the egg to determine if there was enough salt.

The finishing touch; Will's walkie switched on to static nearby. Finally, we were ready.

Ms. Byers and and I had helped El into the bath. She had just taken off her shoes and socks as well as the digital watch Mike had given her almost a week ago. Ms. Byers and her seemed to have constructed a waterproof blindfold with ducttape and goggles from the science lab.

We all sat nearby, ready in case she needed anything and it was almost chilling to watch her float on her back. Suddenly, the lights in the gym flickered accompanied by the sounds of the electricity surging and lights went out. We all looked cautiously towards the ceiling before looking back to El.

Seconds felt like hours when suddenly, El spoke. Her voice broke, she sounded fearful.

"Barbara?"

My heart began to faster once more.

El's breathing became frantic and the lights flickered once more.

"What's going on?" Nancy asked worriedly towards us.

"I don't know." Mike said, just as panicked.

"Is Barb okay? Is she okay?" Nancy asked frantically to El.

El began whimpering.

"Gone. Gone. Gone."

I looked to Nancy, who brought a hand to her mouth to mask her sobs. My heart ached for her.

My heart was pounding by now. My hands were shaking.

Ms. Byers immediately reached a hand out to El and held her hand, and rubbed her arm comfortingly.

"It's okay. It's okay. It's okay." She cooed.

"Gone. Gone!"

I felt like I was stuck in the middle of a storm, unable to move. Unable to help. Useless. Waiting for the worst.

"It's okay. It's okay. Hey. It's okay." Ms. Byers was doing everything in her power to calm the girl.

Even the chief gently grabbed her other hand to try and soothe her.

"It's okay, we're right here. We're right here, honey. It's okay. I got you. Don't be afraid. I'm right here with you. It's okay. You're safe."

||3rd Person POV||

Eleven found the wave of panic dissolve into nothing as she heard the distant echo of Joyce's voice reassuring her.

For the first time she felt somewhat calm in this horrifying place. Suddenly she saw something the distance.

It was a small hit roughly her height, made from large sticks and branches. It was decorated with flags and a painted sign that read

《•••》

"Castle Byers." El muttered.

My eyes widen in shock and my eyes were glued to the girl in front of me. Terrified of hearing the word "gone".

My heart was pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears. My fingers grasped the edge of the pool and my knuckles began to turn white.

《•••》

Eleven slowly approached the fort, scared of what she might find. But she knew she had to. She needed to.

After everything everyone had done for her. How kind Mike and [Y/N] had been. She felt she owed it to them. Facing her fears she brought her hand up to the blanket entrance and brushed it aside as she stepped inside.

There he was. Drenched in sweat and slime and shivering from the cold conditions, laid Will Byers unconscious, but clinging to life.

She lowered herself to the ground and sat on her knees.

"Will."

《•••》

"Will?" El asked hopefully.

I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding and everyone around us gasped.

《•••》

In his life-threatening state, he saw the girl kneeling before him and like a mirage, his mind chose to see the girl he grew so fond of.

《•••》

"[Y/N]?" The voice over the walkie talkie echoed all throughout the gym.

My heart stopped and I felt everyone's eyes on me and everyone gasped.

The voice, the sad and broken voice of Will Byers crackled over the radio saying my name causing me to stare at the walkie talkie.

My eyes became glassy and my vision blurred.

He's alive. He's alive and that all that matters.

"That's Will! Tell- You tell him... tell him I'm coming."

《•••》

Eleven spoke the words that echoed in her brain. She grasped the boys hand shook it ever so slightly.

"No, but she's looking for you. Your mom... she's coming for you. Everybody is looking for you."

Finally gathering enough strength to open his eyes, he looked to her and spoke.

||Reader's POV||

"Hurry."

His voice echoed through the gym once more and we all watched feeling helpless.

Ms. Byers began feeding words to El once more.

"Okay. Listen, you tell him to... to stay where he is. We're coming. We're coming, okay? We're coming, honey."

We heard whimpering on the radio and suddenly El shot up, gasping for air making us all jump back. She scrambled backward into Ms. Byers arms and she softly calmed the girl down.

Tears were now freely falling down my cheeks as I try to process everything that just happened.

"Oh, okay, okay. I've got you. It's okay. I got you. I got you. I got you, honey. You did so good. Are you okay?"

I quickly attempt to wipe my tears away with the back of my sleeve as I watch everything unfold. I wanted to be strong for El.

For Will.

+++

Tag List: @fuckwaad @aimee-lucass @iblesstherainsdown-in-africa@miscellaneoustoasts

DM me if you want to be added!

[gumnut-logic]

Nutty wrote Wee!Tracys

Yes, I did and I’m blaming @godsliltippy for waving a challenge in front of my eyes, however inadvertently. Also apparently the challenge sparked in a discussion between @godsliltippy and MadameWinter who needs to share the blame as well.

The challenge involved wee!Tracys and fluff and pretty much the plotline I’ve written, so read it to find out :D

I’m a parent, but I’m not a kiddy person, so I apologise if this comes out with adult voices. I usually write the boys all grown up and I likes them that way :D

-o-o-o-

Virgil sat back and let his brother dig the hole. It was a very particular hole apparently. Had to be a specific size and shape.

It also appeared to involve full body immersion in the soil. Alan was covered head to toe in dirt. Dad was going to be so happy, not. Perhaps he could get his little brother under the hose before Dad got home.

Scott was inside studying, John reading as usual, and Gordon harassing Grandma. Virgil had taken Alan outside to separate the terrible twosome and give the house some peace. If he had to admit it, he felt like spending some time with the little four year old.

And it was a lovely day.

A blink and he realised Alan had wandered across the garden while he was thinking. He was staring at something in his hand. “Allie?”

“Virgie, what’s this?”

His brother turned around holding a mangled foil wrapped object in his palm. Virgil climbed to his feet and wandered over, frowning.

The dots in his head didn’t take long to connect.

Reaching out he took the little object from his brother’s hand. “It’s an Easter egg.”

“But it’s not Easter.”

“No, it’s not.”

“What’s it doin’ in the garden?”

“Um...the Easter bunny must have left it last time and we didn’t find it.”

“But the Easter bunny didn’t come this year. Remember.”

No, he hadn’t. Easter had passed by unacknowledged.

“He came before.”

“He did? Why not this year?”

How to explain to a four-year-old why the Easter bunny had stopped coming? Virgil had been eight when he discovered the truth behind the Easter bunny, sneaking out early one morning only to find his mother stashing eggs all over the garden. He had been both devastated and relieved. Devastated at losing the magic, relieved there wasn’t really a giant mutant rabbit running around hiding eggs in random places...even if they were chocolate.

When his mother died, so did the Easter bunny.

He rolled the decayed piece of foil wrapped chocolate in his hand. The last person to touch it before Alan had been his mother.

Inexplicably it blurred in front of him.

“Virgie?”

“Uh, sorry Allie. Would you like the Easter bunny to hide eggs for you next year?”

“Could he?”

“I’m sure we can contact him and ask.”

“I’ll go get my pencils!”

As his brother ran off, he stared at the old egg again. Mom was gone. The thought hurt. But if he had to sacrifice a sleep-in next year to give his little brother the experience of the Easter bunny. He would. Heh, Gordon would love it, too. Despite himself he smiled. They all would love it.

Grabbing the shovel his little bro had been using to dig that no longer important hole, he dug a little one in another corner of the garden. Placing the old egg gently down, he buried it in soil, ever to be part of the garden.

Mom, would always be here. He would make sure of it.

-o-o-o-

[stone-man-warrior]

November 27, 2020: 6:37 pm:

Here are some ramblings from my suspended Twitter account I wrote today. I write in the text box, cannot send the Tweet, the account is suspended, yet, there is daily feedback that comes as a result of what I wrote in a suspended account and, I write lengthy explanations of terror, way more than could be sent if the account was active.

My assessment of that is, that Twitter terror cell operatives don‘t need to actually send a Tweet in order to reach Twitter Command HQ. They can just open any text box, and begin to say what is going on where they are at.

(just raw this time, I am not going to correct the spelling or do any work that makes it easy to read like I usually do, so, here you go, raw Twitter rambling the way it was written, and, the way it copies to Tumblr without any adjustments.

=========================================

Or, we count the number of eggs the Easter Bunny hid at the 2007-2008 WH Easter Egg Role. That would work better than anything associated with vote counting. In other, local news: I went for a short walk a few minutes ago. Shit happens fast, so, details are sketchy at best, but, all signs point to not one, but two African Lions outside right now. One was in the creek in my yard, popped the head of someone hiding there, the other went into the garage at 445 Bell terror cell, and dragged someone out of there, to between the cars parked in the driveway. I observed from a safe distance. I was reminded that while in Boston, you don't park the car, you have to "pawk the caw" then, you don't go to the convenience store, you go to the Package Store... "The Packy" where you Pawk the Caw at the Packy to go get a bagel and a drink of wataw, fow a quataw. Then I returned to my house. no matter how often they bring those African Lions, it's always weird. I just cannot seem to get used to the idea that there will be an African Lion in the yard at least some of the time. I've never been to Boston. I hear it's nice there this time of year. Three Dee Communication at Monroe terror cell included: "Standing Dead", a statement made with a few dead manzanita trees that have been laying down horizontally for many months, were propped up, standing, at a place where I would have no problem seeing the "standing dead" terror comm. "Window sill & cripples at their post" was presented with a window sill and some cripples at a post, leaning, old, the house they are part of, nowhere to be found. There has been a telescope and a dining table style chair at that place where the standing dead statement was made, for quite awhile at the Monroe's. It's a real nice telescope too, is just sitting out in the weather on a tripod, usualy is pointed as if to look east, sometimes to the ground, sometimes toward the sky. It got turned around the other day, is pointing at my front door now, with the chair right there. For about three years, there was red Volkswagen Beatle parked there where the telescope is at now. The day the Volskswagen was taken away,is the day the telescope and tripod was put there. It's been about six weeks I supppose that the very nice looking telescope has been out in the weather near the fence at the Monroe's terror cell. I have yet to see anyone there using the telescope, it's there for reasons that are not clear to me. It changes direction, and altitude of view regularly, but only very small adjustments to the telescope view have been done until the thing turned completely around towards my front door a few days ago. That Volskwagen Beatle that was there had cameras inside and was a place where the Monroe terror cell could see that I was walking to the mailbox or just taking a walk, or was in my car to go to the store, so, the Beatle Cam was replaced with a telescope on the same day. That Monroe Surveillance Offensive Travel Trailer is still there, just moved from one place to another, is outside and in the weather now, it was partially beneath the pole barn. It's modern 40 foot long travel trailer that was put there by Walmart terror members that I recognised as Walmart terror cell members, about three years ago. It still is there, with a better view to my yard than before it was moved, has a reverse back-up cam on the roof pointed toward my yard and more window angle to my yard than before it was moved is also a result of moving over just about 30 feet for no appearant reason than to obtain a better view of my yard. Three airplanes buzzed my house today too, low and slow over head. When the people came to take that red Volkswagen away, it looked to me as a undercover police team of two people. One was a blonde woman. They also looked to have been set-up to go there to me. The clothes worn by the two who came for the Beatle, were matched by Sandy and Deb Monroe, so there were five people, three Monroes, two other people, and the Monroe's were mimicking the other two strangers. Jeff Monroe was there, he was very loud, and I never heard Jeff Monroe be loud before that day. I tried to warn the strangers, that they were at a place where federal agents are lured to and killed regularly, and that if they did not get out of there, the Monroe's will kill them and eat them. The two strangers heard what I said, and the is when Jeff Monroe started getting very loud with his speach. I stayed on my driveway, about 50 feet away from them, but spoke loud enough that the strangers could here me. I think they were federal agents lured to Monroe's by Local authorties. Moments before the two showed up, Deb Monroe ran to that red Beatle, opened the door, she had a hefty trash bag, and she went in there rummaging around with the doors of the car all closed. That was the last time I can say for sure that I saw Jeff Monroe. There has been one other time that someone who looked like Jeff was using a chain saw to cut some shrubs, but I'm not certain if that was him. I stay clear of people with running chainsaws around here. Fingernail Clipper Chain saw attack defense: Take out your fingernail clipper, as the chainsaw assassin approaches, he will lift it, revealing the soft white underbelly of the chainsaw beast. Carefully put your fingernail clipper into the chain blade perpendicularly as close to the motor housing as is possible. Hold on to the fingernail clipper. Apply pressure towards the chainsaw bar. The blade of the saw will stop turning when the clipper comes in contact with the motor housing, that is the time that you use your other fingernail clipper to defend against the chainsaw assassin.

========================

(someone at Centurylink ISP is continuously turning off my number pad on my computer keyboard. I have to keep pushing the button to turn it back on whenever I need to use a numeral. “Num Lk” button)

6:50 pm.

==================================

8:54: More rambling from my suspended Twitter account:

(this requires that you understand three different explosions that blew up buildings in Oregon, two times when the JoCo Sheriff Office exploded, and once when the OHSU hospital exploded)

I was saying about the Hans Carlson Bomb at the OHSU where the plunger was at the Wharf Campus and the roof exploded at the main campus, with the plunger that was put for random blow at the kiddie play area in the lobby at the Wharf. "Impromptu Remote Broadcast"

Imp + romper room + pt + u

Power take up

power take cup

runneth over.

Pacific Power style, they were there.

Same ingredients as the JoCo sheriff office when that blew up, twice, from Walmart remote broadcast at the automotive service department garage across the street from the sheriff office on F street.

Micheal Moore of Supersize Me was there both times the sheriff office blew up. Nathan Phillips was there both times. He used to live at 520 Jackpine next to my house.

Also is next to Myers at 560.

The exact same thing happened both times, I needed some transmission fluid, but the fluid is specific, the containers are not always clear about what vehicle the fluid works in, especially for older Dodge trucks, the containers of transmission fluid are not labelled such that you have confidence in choosing one over another, so, you have to ask the people at the front counter to look at their service information, but they direct you to the mechanic in the service area where the cars get worked on. So you go through the door to the garage there, and that is when you see that Micheal Moore wants to go in while you are going out, so, you hold the door open for Micheal Moore, then go into the service area, where there is a man with a back back talking to the same mechanic that you need to talk to about transmission fluid, then, across the street, the sheriff office blows up, every time you ask for transmission fluid specifications. "Impromptu Remote Broadcast"

Imp + romper room + pt + u

A PTO is a "Power Take Off", usually found on a garden veriety farm tractor for running implements on the tractor.

PT.

The U, is the O, with the top blown off of it.

Imp + Romper Room + Power Take Off with the Top Blown Off = Impromptu for the remote random broadcast when shit blows up.

Assholes. SAG are assholes. Micheal Moore

Might kill more

M Gilmore

M Gilmour

Da V'd Gilmour

upside down M = W = VV = V'd

David Gilmour

Top of the Pyramid.

Starring Gil Gilbertson as Sheriff.

Gil + Gil = more Gil = More kill = kill more = Gilmour

... bertson = hurtson [blow the bottom off of the b structure, make h, need 'c for' that, high C, Pope] = hertz donut's (the Police "Sting" "... a humiliating kick in the crotch...") ( Homer Simpson [holmes]: "Doe!")

That is "Text" style terror comm from the Vatican Choir.

Gilmour Hurts Donuts = Gilmour: Hurt's, Don't it?"

Top of the Pyramid is the top of the Pope's Pointy Hat. You need a special funnel to fill your transmission fluid reservoir with very specific grade of fluid, all of which is Synthetic.

Moog Music is a employee owned operation.

======

I suspect gears that don't mesh were present at the Vatican, so, the pinion gear exploded the planetary gear at the sheriff office, twice. Or vice-verse, or both. Along the Interstate 5 Freeway, from Shasta County and north of there, to Douglass County and South of there, is called "God's County". Some call it "The State of Jefferson", mostly those people are from Ashland Oregon (exit 19 = Cross it 19 = X 19 = 1019 = 119 because the 0 is silent), and from PBS Public Broadcasting Service. 119 is a Blues number, you play the turnaround and start over at the twelfth bar = 911 Emergency at Ashland all of the time. It's a Random Broadcast, nation wide.

8:59 pm.

====================================

10:19 pm:

Do math:

CBS knows, is watching, telling others of the reveal.

JoCo Sheriff was designed with a roof line based on the B-1 Bomber.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=47YAcpCa5dM

Josephine County Sheriff Office before the building exploded, this from Google map’s current layout of the town shows the Sheriff’s office as it looked from the air prior to both explosions:

B-1 Bomber design features put there at the Sheriff Office for the purpose of finding an Easter Egg to stop Vatican terror. Designed by yours truly while held captive, 1998-2002 ish. Many designs, but no one will look for the Easter Eggs that were put there for them.

The Sheriff Office does not look like that any more. It has changed a number of times, and now incorporates a attached jail that is also used for terror operations, is maintained and staffed by SAG actors in Deputy Jailer uniforms. Very dangerous place for everyone. Many hidden traps, snares, other dangers are there, it’s a killing field.

[kristen-lockhart-blog]

Short story- Amelia

Amelia is the story of an elementary-aged African American girl living in St. Augustine, Florida in 1904.

https://docs.google.com/document/d/e/2PACX-1vQXz0ussl5PI3_1dEBF0JQG7Z7_hr2yAKUL5n44XWl0SlV1DVWRwjl-Yqy9rHKaEPMG6q_6nzeqDBsX/pub

“Amelia,” her momma said, peering upwards from the bottom of the staircase. Amelia sat with her legs underneath her at the doorway of her daddy’s office. The layers of her ruffled skirt folded neatly over her knees. 

The year was 1904. Amelia’s family lived in a two story, light gray, wooden house with a periwinkle roof, that her daddy built in Lincolnville, St. Augustine. Her daddy, Henry Green, owned a little shop in town; A grocery mart and pharmacy where he distributed medicine to the neighbors. Her daddy loved to play his horn more than anything. He loved to play for his family, and he loved to play on Washington St., Saturday night for all the neighbors to hear.

Her daddy turned and winked at her as the mellow song of his trumpet began to fill every room of the house with a warm, melancholy timbre. Amelia gently rocked side to side, her eyes closed, humming along to her daddy’s sweet, soulful sound. “Amelia dear,” her momma said once again, “are you ready for school?” Amelia blinked and grinned, awakening from her trance. “Coming Momma,” she said as she hopped up and ran over to give her daddy a kiss on the cheek. “Tell Momma I’ll be down soon,” he said. He played her out of the room with playful ascending melodies. The music followed her as she excitedly hopped down the stairs, her shoes clacking to the rhythm against the wooden steps.

Amelia’s momma, Sarah, and her brother, James, were sitting at the table with orange juice, poached eggs, and toast. “I told your daddy he better not play that thing so early in the morning,” her momma said with a chuckle. “Yeah, I bet the neighbors love it.” Said James. “Oh, you know they do love it Momma. Everybody loves Daddy’s blues!” Amelia said giggling, plopping down in her chair. Amelia’s daddy concluded his piece softly. He gently placed his instrument in its cased and fastened the buckles. 

Finally making his way down the steps he sang, “Good morning sunshine,” to a little tune. He sat in his usual seat across from Sarah, easing into the back of his chair casually. “Amelia how has school been?” he asked. “I am doing well,” she said shyly. James was quiet, nibbling idly at a spoonful of egg. He knew as soon as they got to the schoolhouse, she practically shut down. She wasn’t lying though. She was doing quite well. Henry locked eyes with Sarah. “Baby, if anything is happening, you let us know okay,” said Sarah. Henry nodding along to Sarah’s words. “I know Momma,” she said. She was staring down at her toast. She smiled and took several bites.

“You two better get going to school now,” their daddy said. The two children grabbed their books as Sarah handed them each their lunch. The three of them made their way to the front door. 

Sarah stopped Amelia in front of the large, rectangular mirror in the foyer. It was a golden color with magnificently intricate designs of foliage along the frame. Amelia’s momma fixed a ribbon in her hanging coils. Amelia stared at her reflection. She loved her soft pink dress. But that was all. She grinned at her momma in the reflection. 

Her momma gave her a kiss on the head and James a kiss on the cheek. “Goodbye now children, be safe.” She said. The pair walked down the steps of the front porch and started down the street to the schoolhouse. Few other children from the neighborhood had merged onto the same path just ahead of them. Amelia looked down at her shiny black shoes, kicking pebbles against the brick road. It was always a quiet walk to school with James. He didn’t say much to her outside the house.

Miss Mary was smiling and waving as the children approached the schoolhouse. “Good morning James, Amelia.” She said as they walked through the doorway and stepped onto the creaky wooden floorboards. Amelia settled into her seat near the back few rows of the classroom. It didn’t affect her performance, after all. James sat across the room from her. The classroom filled in with children of all ages. Miss Mary began writing on the chalkboard. 

Amelia had a relatively uneventful day until Anna Eli trotted up to her desk during second breakfast with a sour look on her face. Amelia raised her eyes to meet hers. Anna Eli crossed her arms,Anna Ellie Jones marched up to Amelia’s desk with a sour look on her face.

“You know the only reason you aren’t completely hideous is because your family gots money and can put that pretty pink dress on your tiny, frail body?” Anna Ellie said.

“My daddy worked hard to get me this pretty pink dress,” she said calmly.

She met eyes with James who had glanced over. Amelia breathed in deeply, grasping her fingertips tightly against her palms. Anna Ellie scoffed and abruptly turned her back to Amelia, stomping back to her seat. Amelia looked at James. He was facing the chalkboard.

The following morning, Henry was inquiring about how Amelia felt about school.

“Daddy, won’t you play us some piano before school?” she asked in an attempt to change the subject. She ran into the parlor before he could answer.

Henry chuckled, “I suppose I don’t have a choice,” he said, making his way over, followed by James and Amelia’s momma, Sarah.

Amelia twirled around in her momma’s arms to the melancholy blues.

“dance with us!” she said to James.

“No.” Said James. “It’s time for school anyway.”

         Amelia was in a better mood on the walk to school this morning. She skipped ahead of James.

“Why didn’t you want to dance to Daddy’s blues this morning?” she said.

“Because. I don’t like that kiddie stuff no more.” He said as he brushed past her staring straight ahead at the schoolhouse.

         Second breakfast rolled around again, and Amelia’s stomach was already in a knot. She sat alone on the bottom step of the schoolhouse. The front door remained open letting the breeze in. And her peaceful, solitary meal did not last long. She felt a hovering presence lingering over her. She looked over her shoulder to find Anna Ellie’s grimace not even a foot away from her face.

“Did you really think you could hide from me out here?” she said.

Amelia didn’t have anything to say.

“Don’t ignore me.” Anna Ellie said sternly.

  She shoved Amelia’s shoulders causing the lunch sitting on her lap to spill onto the ground; her fork clanking on the asphalt. Her knees and palms had hit the concrete beneath the bottom step of the schoolhouse and the ruffles lining her blue dress had been dirtied. Amelia stood up brushing off her knees and grasped the inside of one palm with the other hand. They were red and scraped up.

Her hands we shaking but she turned to face Anna Ellie..

“Why do you think you’re better than the rest of us?” she said with her arms crossed.

“I don’t,” Amelia said.

“You come in here wearing your pretty ruffled dresses every day and you don’t say a thing to nobody!” she said.

Amelia looked at the ground.

“Answer me!” Anna Ellie said with another shove.

 Amelia did not fall this time. She had taken a few steps back after being pushed; but she stood her ground. 

“You’re no different than the rich white kids at the rich white kid schools.” Anna Ellie said in disgust and she marched back to her seat inside.

Amelia stood shyly at her father’s office door. He looked up at her,

“What’s wrong, baby?” he asked.

She walked in the room. He pulled her up to sit on his knee. “Listen baby, has somebody been botherin’ you at school? Whatever they’ve been saying to you, you are beautiful, and kind and they don’t know you like we know you,” he said, looking at her.

“No. They don’t know me,” she said, scrunching her eyebrows together. “She thinks that I think I’m better than everybody,” she said, “that’s not what I think!” She sighed, defeatedly. “I tried to tell her that you worked real hard!”

Henry looked at her quizzically.

“Who said that?” he asked.

“Anna Ellie.” Amelia said quietly. “She said we’re just like the rich white folks at the rich white schools.”

Henry raised his brows.

“Is that so?” he said.

Amelia turned and looked at him.

“Daddy,” she said, “I know you worked hard for us.” Her shoulders slacked a bit. “But how did you do it?” she asked.

Henry smiled.

“I’ll tell you baby.”

On Saturday morning the following weekend, the family walked into town. Henry stopped in front of a grandiose hotel with two vast and splendor towers hovering above the rest of the stunning white and maroon architecture.

“This place,” Henry began, “The Ponce De Leon Hotel, is what I owe a lot of my thanks to.”

They walked underneath the archway into the courtyard of the hotel. They turned some heads of the wealthy white patrons sitting in the courtyard, but Henry was not worried. He stared straight ahead and kept walking; his family close behind him.

Holding the front door for the family was a handsome young black man in a bellhop uniform. He smiled and nodded to Henry.

Behind the front desk was a white, bearded man about Henry’s age. He had dark blonde hair and was wearing a light gray suit. He was attending to a white woman standing at the counter. The woman looked over her shoulder, bewildered for a moment, but then walked away.

The man behind the counter looked up and met Henry’s eyes.

“Henry,” he said.

“Good to see you again, Sam,” he said, chuckling.

“Likewise,” Sam said. “Are you looking for work?”

 “Oh no, not this time,” Henry said, grinning.

Amelia stepped out from behind her daddy’s leg. 

“Ah,” Sam said. “You know, Henry,” he began, “You and yours aren’t really supposed to be here if you aren’t working.” He looked at Amelia. She looked at the ground shyly. “Who knows what our guests might think,” he said, “I just don’t want anyone to be hostile towards your family.”

Henry sighed, “Sam, old friend, you have helped me so much in the past,” he said, “I wouldn’t be able to take care of my family the way I do if it weren’t for that job you gave me back in the day.My baby girl here just wanted to see how it all came to be.” Henry said smiling down at Amelia.

Sam sighed and looked upwards at the clock over his shoulder.

“Allow me to escort you so there will be no trouble.”

Henry placed a hand on top of the counter.

“I really appreciate you Sam. You’re a real friend in these times,” he said.

Sam nodded and smiled, stepping out from behind the counter.

“Green family, won’t you follow me?” he said smiling at James and Sarah. “Your father Henry came to me just after the Ponce De Leon had opened its doors,” he said stopping in the middle of the lobby. “He worked here as a bellhop for just over ten years, Sam said, smiling at Henry. “He’s a good man, and a fine horn player,” he said. 

Henry beamed.

The family followed Sam all around the first floor of the hotel for the next fifteen minutes. Sam nodded to the bellhops as they passed by.

The last room of the impromptu tour was the hotel parlor. The ceiling had rows of carved, white, floral stone. The floors were blanketed by massively elegant rugs of maroon and cream colors. There was a pair of spectacular chandeliers at either end of the room, with lamps at the end of several curled arms. On one side of the room was a gleaming black, grand piano.

Henry chuckled, “It’s not too sore on the eyes,” he said, “Thanks again for letting us be here.”

“It was great to see you again, Henry,” Sam said. He looked at Sarah and the kids. “Nice to meet the family. Take care, you all.” Sam shook Henry’s hand and walked back to the main counter.

As the family began to make their exit through the lobby, an incredibly smooth and soulful riff began to faintly flow out from the parlor doors.

Henry stopped.

“I’ll meet you all in the front. I’ll be right out.” he said.

Henry walked through the parlor doorway. The handsome bellhop from before was sitting at the piano bench on the other side of the room. As Henry made his way over, the man’s eyes widened and his song suddenly stopped and he stood up.

“I’m sorry.” The man said.

“Don’t be. Relax,”  Henry said chuckling. “You can really play the blues, brother.”

The man smiled faintly.

“Thank you, but I really don’t know all that much,” he said.

“Nonsense!” Said Henry. “Have you ever played on Washington St.?” he said grinning.

The man smiled to himself. “I can’t say that I have, actually,” he said.

“Well listen,” Henry said beaming at the man, “I play the trumpet for the neighborhood on Saturday nights. Why don’t you come over next weekend?”

“Oh, I gotta look out for my kid, actually,” the man said.

Henry smiled knowingly. “Bring her!” he said jollily, “I have a daughter myself. They can play and the two of us can make some sweet soul music together.”

“Well…” he said, “you really think I’m good enough for a Saturday night on Washington St.?”

“Oh, the neighbors will love you,” Henry said, “you gotta share this music.”

“Okay.” he said, finally.

“Fantastic!” Henry said shaking the man’s hand, excitedly. “What’s your name, son?” he asked.

“Eddie.” The man said. “Eddie Jones.”

At second breakfast the following Monday, Anna Ellie marched up to Amelia, hands on her hips.

“You know you got me in trouble?” she said.

“I haven’t done anything to you.” Amelia said.

“I know you snitched.” Anna Ellie said.

“I didn’t.” Amelia said. “Why are you being so mean?”

“Why should I be nice to a stuck up little rich girl like you?” Anna Ellie said.

“That’s not me!” Amelia said.

“But your daddy has his own store and he makes lots of money! My daddy is just a bellhop,” Anna Ellie said frowning at the ground.

Amelia’s eyes widened and she looked up at Anna Ellie’s face.

“Anna Ellie…” she said, “I told you. My daddy was just like your daddy.”

Anna Ellie grimaced; fists clenched.

“I swear!” Amelia said. “My daddy was even a bellhop at the Ponce De Leon Hotel for ten years…”

Anna Ellie’s expression lightened.

“Really?” she said. “There’s no way.” Anna Ellie looked at Amelia in shock.

Amelia nodded.

“That’s how lots of the shop owners in the neighborhood were able to start their businesses.” Amelia looked at Anna Ellie’s face, trying to make eye contact. “I bet your daddy is a hard worker just like my daddy.” Anna Ellie’s face was red. She was glaring at the ground, her eyes welling up. Amelia looked at her face, concerned slightly. “Anna Ellie…” Anna Ellie turned away and walked back to her seat and plopped down dejectedly.

Amelia looked at Anna Ellie, wide-eyed. She turned to James who had a similar expression on his face. He turned back towards the chalkboard.

On Saturday morning, Henry and Sarah had been sharing a cup of coffee at the table. When he heard the knock at the door he excitedly hopped up, his spoon clinking into his cup. Sarah giggled to herself.

“That’s my guest.” Henry said, hurrying to the door.

He opened the door, beaming. There stood Eddie with his daughter, Anna Ellie standing behind him.

“Good morning Eddie!” Henry said.

“Thank you for having us, Henry” Eddie said with a soft smile.

“Come on in!” Henry stepped to the side and allowed the pair to step inside.

“Hello sweetheart,” he said to Anna Ellie, “what’s your name?” he asked.

“Anna Ellie.” she said shyly.

Henry raised his eyebrows and smiled.

“Well now, what a pretty name.” He smiled at her. “I have a daughter about your age. She’s upstairs in her bedroom, first door on the right. Why don’t you run up there and play?” he said smiling at her.

Her eyes lit up.

“Okay,” she said, “thank you.”

Henry and Eddie made their way to the piano in the parlor and Sarah took a seat on the sofa.

Anna Ellie made her way upstairs.

Amelia was sitting on her bed with her legs hanging off the edge. She had an open book in her lap, but she was staring out the window, idly kicking her legs against the bed. Her bedroom door was about halfway open, as usual.

Anna Ellie stood in the doorway.

“Hello?” she said.

Amelia turned around, startled.

“It’s you!” she said.

Anna Ellie was just as shocked.

“You’re Mr. Henry’s daughter?” Her jaw dropped and her face contorted into a thoroughly confused expression.

She walked into the room and sat on the corner of Amelia’s bed and stared at the wall.

 “How are our daddies’ friends?” she asked.

Amelia looked at her in bewilderment. Her tormentor was now in her room, sitting on her bed.

“My daddy likes the way your daddy plays the blues,” she said looking away.

“Oh.” Anna Ellie said quietly. “Your daddy really was a bellhop?” she said smiling softly to herself.

“Yeah.” Amelia said.

“Thanks for what you said to me the other day at school,” Anna Ellie said. She turned towards Amelia. “And Amelia,” she said. Amelia looked up at her. “I am really sorry.” Anna Ellie said. “And I don’t expect you to forgive me.” Anna Ellie smiled sadly and stood up. “I’ll see you at school…” she said, “but don’t worry. I’ll leave you alone.” Anna Ellie walked out of the room and back downstairs. Amelia stared blankly at the wall.

Anna Ellie walked into the parlor. Henry was grinning, holding his horn, and Eddie was sitting at the piano bench smiling from ear to ear.

Henry looked at Anna Ellie, “well, hello little lady,” he said.

She looked at him. Just then Amelia had hurried down the steps.

“Anna Ellie!” she said.

Anna Ellie turned, surprised.

“I forgive you,” Amelia said walking over to her.

Anna Ellie smiled sadly, tears pooling in the back of her eyes.

Amelia grabbed her hand and stood next to her.

“Well, shall we?” Henry said.

Amelia smiled at Anna Ellie, “dance with me!” she said, “The music helps to heal the soul.”

The two men swayed to the music. Amelia twirled Anna Ellie around. Sarah hopped up and grabbed James’ hand. He obliged with a defeated smile. The families danced and laughed together to the blues. Amelia, being swung playfully around by Anna Ellie, caught a glimpse of herself in the foyer mirror and loved what she saw smiling back at her.

[diabeticmemoirs]

SORRY KARL MARX: 4 ANIMALS THAT YOU THOUGHT WERE ALTRUISTIC BUT AREN’T

Altruism, we all think that we know what it means. You know, doing something good for someone else without some kind of a reward. Maybe donate to charity, or volunteer your time at a local shelter of some kind — human, animal, hexapod invertebrate (seriously, they call them bug hotels). That’s not exactly the case though. In fact, the real definition of altruism is a tad more specific than that.

First we have to talk fitness, and no I’m not talking about the ten minutes of yoga you did before collapsing on top of the body-shaped puddle of sweat still absorbing into the mat you purchased at the dollar store. In biology, fitness refers to how many babies a person can make, who can also get down and make a few of their own (thanks conservation science 201). And, using that definition, altruism is actually any behavior that an individual performs in order to increase the fitness of another, while causing a decrease in fitness to itself.

Now, Karl Marx was many things; philosopher, journalist, historian, political theorist, revolutionary socialist. But, one of his core ideas was this — human nature is essentially a state of it’s circumstances (Everything is your parents fault). Immanuel Kant and Thomas Hobbes argued that people were, at their core, selfish. Marx, on the other hand, said that outside of the social constraints of upper and lower class, people would prove to be self-less and help one another out — they would care about our species as a whole. Just like all of those examples of altruistic behavior in our cute and cuddly animal counterparts. I mean come on! We’ve all seen the viral videos of dogs adopting orphaned kittens. Obviously we should try to be more understanding and accepting. We should walk and talk just like the animals right?....Right? Well, no, not if we’re talking altruism.

Lemmings

No, I’m not talking about the green-haired, dimwitted, cartoon creatures who walk to their deaths in blue dresses that were made famous by DMA Design in 1991. I’m referring to the IRL version that also jump from cliffs and drown themselves in an attempt to control their own population size. That’s right folks! Altruistic mass suicide. It was actually a theory not too long ago. Disney even “documented” it in their 1958 film White Wilderness. Documented of course means that they took some lemmings, pushed them off of a cliff, and filmed it (Mickey Mouse for President 2020).

Reality is — that theory was sane when compared to earlier ones. During the 1530’s a geographer, by the name of Zeigler, suggested that lemmings spontaneously fell from the sky during stormy weather, and simply died off in the spring. What Zeigler hadn’t noticed was the population migrating up to the mountains in the spring to get their baby-making on...like really on. Lemmings reproduce so fast that they have their own unique population growth model.

Almost every species follows one of two predictive growth patterns, outside of extenuating circumstances of course. They either grow exponentially until they reach a carrying capacity, balancing out the population with the available resources; or they grow exponentially, far beyond the available resources, and eventually crash towards potential extinction (have you figured out which kind we are yet?....just saying). Lemmings, on the other hand, fluctuate up and down chaotically, not around a carrying capacity, for about four years before crashing to near extinction. Then they get up, brush themselves off, and start all over again.

They’re rodents, and like every other rodent, they mass produce children and then scatter away to new places when the population gets too big. But, unlike every other rodent, that has inconspicuous, neutral coloring and tends to flee and hide at the sight of a predator, a lemmings predatory defense behavior is simple; they ain’t gonna take no shit from no punk ass carnivore, and their colors say so (thug life). It’s almost like the flight portion of their fight or flight response was lebotomized from that portion of the brain (the amygdala...not that they asked Mr. Know-it-All), but that’s beside the point. Lemmings are mean, aggressive, far from altruistic little adrenaline junkies that migrate at full speed down mountain cliffs and across raging rivers, they’re just not all gonna make it. That’s the life. They like to ride. Fixed gear. No brakes. Can’t stop. Don’t want to, either (or was that Joseph Gordon-Levitt?).

Wolves

The great and noble wolf pack, consisting of the alpha, the beta, and the bottom of the proverbial barrel — the omega wolf. A perfect hierarchy of dominance behavior, where the toughest make it to the top. At least, that’s according to L. David Mech, one of the most prominent wolf experts in the U.S (and every episode of MTV’s adaptation of Teen Wolf). So who the hell are we to question it?

Let’s just assume that’s how it works for a moment, and one renegade wolf fights his way to power, dominating every other member of the pack with his or her underdog willpower and earning the top spot in more ways than one (where my bitches at?). Well it seems that, in the wild, that renegade top-dog has a soft spot for the young and injured.

Everyone gets a share at meal time. Even the ones who are too sick or injured to go on the hunt get an equal piece, and Mr. Alpha makes sure of that. Hooray altruism!!! Sharing resources definitely counts. Except it doesn’t. Not in this case. Because guess what, putting a bunch of strange wolves into a small, enclosed space isn’t the best way to understand what’s happening in the wild. Who knew?!

The truth is that Mr. Alpha is actually just a wolf that found Mrs. Alpha and decided to make their own little pack, the old fashioned way...sex, I’m talking about sexual intercourse. Wolf packs are just families; Mom, Dad, and all of their little kiddy wolves (Sibling rivalry gets a whole new meaning when you add claws and teeth). Once those pups grow up, they form small family units of their own and often build on the first pack. It’s like a family-reunion-camping-trip, just every second...of every single day...in the middle of untamed wilderness.

It’s called kin selection. Even grandchildren and cousins have twenty-five percent of the SAME GENES as we do. That’s right, you’re twenty-five percent identical to your first cousin. And, biology says that you should get as much of...well you...out there as you can. So, murdering said cousin for breaking your Xbox goes against your natural fitness. Sorry guys.

Apes

You know...us...and our closest living relatives. Those cute little chimpanzees and gorillas with their sign language skills. The ones that get far less cute when you add Mark Walhberg, James Franco, or a forty-five year old Charlton Heston to the mix.

They are like us in a lot of ways. Psychologist Robin Ian Macdonald Dunbar, with his enormous list of credentials and top seat at Oxford’s Department of Experimental Psychology (that’s the legit kind, not the wishy-washy one) writes an entire book on the similar social effects of grooming in apes and the affinity that humans seem to have for gossip. I mean, I don’t want to say anything about women who sit at a salon and exchange information while getting their overpriced nails done, or how they might compare to a troop of gorillas grooming each other...so I won’t...

Gossip, exchanging information, or picking and eating termites off of each others hairy backs, it isn’t kin selection or some mentally unstable rodent migration in this case. It isn’t altruistic either. It’s called reciprocity, “tit for tat,” you eat the bug off my back and I’ll eat the bug off yours. And, don’t take it lightly.

Reciprocity is the basis of human society. We barder, we trade, it happens at every level of civilization. There’s even a thing called reciprocal “concession” where a requester lowers their initial request, in order to make the other person feel obligated to concede to the second request (go ahead, look it up). It’s reverse psychology in board meeting. We haven’t gotten more “self-less” with our intelligence, we’ve just become more manipulative.

Birds

About ten percent of all bird species, in one way or another, express “cooperative breeding” — boom, statistic. So, what does that mean? Babysitting. You take care of someone else’s genetic Will and Testament, which wastes your time and energy and decreases your fitness. Done...altruism. And no, it isn’t always a relative.

So why doesn’t it qualify? Because these are the benefits…

A reduced chance of predation, increased foraging time, territory inheritance, higher survival rate of breeding females, and get this...the “helpers” simply become better parents when they do breed. And in the wild that’s important...because in the wild, children actually do get eaten by monsters.

These guys have weighed the costs and benefits of every tiny little behavior they do, and we have absolutely no clue what’s happening. I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this — as a moderately liberal hippy myself, I’d love to think that all of our furry friends are looking out for one another — but the truth is, altruism doesn’t exist. Not in the natural world at least. We need to define our terms more accurately and stop getting caught up in this black and white, good versus evil trope. The world is vastly more complicated and that’s okay.

The only example I can come up with would be if a woman (let’s call her Sally) donates her egg to Amy, the scientists involved remove Sally’s DNA from it and put in Amy’s DNA, and then they proceed to fertilize it. Because it all comes down to the passing on of genetic material (the gooey stuff). Which may be possible soon, who knows. They just fertilized one female mouse with DNA from another (because men weren’t already useless enough).

[centralparkpawsblog]

Does Dawn Dish Soap Really Kill Fleas on Dogs?

https://www.centralparkpaws.net/wp-content/uploads/2018/08/513kAxXtrL.jpg

So I told you all a while back about my little sister adopting a goldendoodle puppy. Like any new mom, she quickly began freaking out about everything, and I do mean EVERYTHING.

I have literally gotten a text at 2:00 a.m. with a picture of a puppy turd asking me if it looked “normal.” I contemplated texting her back and telling her the only way to really be sure was to taste it. Instead I told her it was perfect, just like her puppy, and to go back to bed.

Who am I to complain about the steady stream of texts though? It makes coming up with my next post a breeze.  Thanks, sis!

My sister’s most recent panic stricken string of texts were the result of finding three (THREE!!!) fleas on her puppy. She tried to Google, but got mixed results causing her to spiral further.

Here are the highlights. I omitted some of her texts with more “colorful” language. You’re welcome, Grandma. Just try to remember who the good one is come this Christmas.

Puppy’s First Flea

“I don’t know what to do. I found a flea. I started really inspecting and found two more. They could be all over the house by now. And the yard.  Good Lord!  You have to help me!!!”

I decided to tackle her panic attack one question at a time.

My first text instructed her to quit looking at random stuff on the internet and check out posts I have already done about this very topic.  I had a great one on eliminating fleas from your yard and a separate post about how to treat your house for fleas.  I even have one about using natural methods to get rid of fleas.

Does Dawn Dish Soap Kill Fleas?

I’ll do my level best to answer her questions in the hopes it will help give answers to someone else, possibly sparing their siblings 23 texts.

“Is washing a dog with Dawn dish soap bad to do? Didn’t mom use it on our dogs when they got fleas when we were kids?”

While it is not best to wash your dog every day with Dawn, there are times that you may need to if something happens such as a huge flea infestation, your dog rolls around on a dead animal (yeah, that is a thing that happens), or maybe they have gotten into some kind of oil.

You may need to immediately wash the dog and you don’t have shampoo.  You can use Dawn to bathe your dog instead in a pinch.

Will Dawn Dish Soap Kill Flea Eggs?

“Will Dawn kill flea eggs? How do I know if I have those? How do I get rid of those?”

I had to look this one up myself.  According to an article I found on a site called fleascience.com, it works by penetrating the eggs, interfering with metabolism or by suffocating the embryo. So yeah, Dawn dish soap kills flea eggs.

But if things get too bad, you’ll likely need to use a flea bomb or other methods of controlling a flea infestation.

Freaking Out

Apparently I took too long looking up the answer to her last question for her liking.

“Why are you ignoring me? You seriously picked the worst possible time ever to abandon me. I need help!  I can’t remember the last time I was this freaked out!?!”

I do.  It happened last Tuesday.

How Does Dish Soap Work Against Fleas?

“I don’t understand how dish soap kills fleas. Is this stupid? Is it even going to work?”

Dawn dish soap kills fleas in two ways.  The first way is that it strips the fleas of their wax coat making their exoskeletons vulnerable.

The second way dish soap is effective at killing fleas is that it changes the surface tension of water.  With these two changes taking place during bath time, it allows the fleas to no longer repel the water and to instead sink down into it thus killing them by suffocation.

Without the Dawn dish soap, other forms of dog shampoo would not have this same effect on the fleas.  They may take the fleas off of the dog but they would just float on top of the water and eventually land on you or back on your dog.

Does Only Blue Dawn Dish Soap Kill Fleas?

“Which Dawn dish soap should I use on fleas? Does only the blue Dawn kill fleas? It doesn’t say. Please help me!”

Any dish washing soap will work for killing fleas.  You want to look for dish soap with the simplest ingredients so that you do not cover your dog in harsh chemicals.

Also be careful of different scents especially if you have a dog with skin sensitivities or allergies.

Is it Safe to use Dawn Dish Soap to Kill Fleas on a Puppy?

“Is it okay to use Dawn dish soap to bathe a puppy?  Will he be safe or will it hurt him?”

It is not safe to use flea shampoos or medications on a puppy until they are around six weeks of age. Some even require waiting until the pup is as old as 12 weeks.

Since you can’t use that, is Dawn safe for puppies?

It will dry the heck out of their skin and fur because it works by stripping oils, but it’s not toxic to wash your pet with it.  If you’re dealing with a flea infestation on a pup younger than six weeks, Dawn is a safer alternative for treating fleas.

How to Give a Flea Bath with Dawn Dish Soap

“So how do I go about doing this? Is it just like using regular shampoo?”

Pretty much except you’ll need to be extra diligent during the rinsing process.

You want to start by preparing everything you will need before getting the dog to the bathing location. Gather necessary items such as Dawn (or another type of dish soap), flea comb, towel, and collar and leash (if your dog likes to jump out of their bath like mine).

It does not matter where you bathe your dog at. It could be the sink, outside with the hose, bathtub, kiddie pool, etc.  It just needs to be in an area that your dog will stay put while the bath is going on.

You want the water to be around 70 degrees or lukewarm. If you are not using just the hose, you’ll want to go ahead and fill up the bath with water before attempting to put your dog in it.

Once the dog is in, make sure to wet their fur as much as possible before putting the soap on. Avoid getting water and dish soap into the dog’s ears and eyes.  If the water does not drain out, this could cause ear infections.  Some have suggested putting cotton wool into your dog’s ears to help protect them from water during bath time.

When you start to apply the soap, you want to start around the dog’s neck and the top part of their head. Fleas will start running once you start and you want to build a blockade around the dog’s face with a line of dish soap. Your dog’s facet is most likely where fleas will attempt to run to and it is hard to wash that part of the dog.  Be careful to not get soap into the dog’s eyes, nose, or mouth.

Cover the rest of the dog’s body with lather from the Dawn, paying extra close attention to spots that fleas like to hide in, like their armpits, in between toes, belly area, etc.

Once you have covered the dog’s body other than the face, you can add some extra water to help later the soap up more.

Leave the dish soap on the dog for two minutes. If your dog has a really bad infestation, it can be helpful to use a flea comb while they still have Dawn on them to begin to comb out some of the fleas that may be hiding deep into the fur.

Rinse your dog off after the two minutes and make sure that you rinse all of the soap off as best that you can. If you see a large amount of fleas floating around in the water you may want to let the water out and start over fresh before rinsing your dog off.

Once you are sure that there is no more dish soap on your dog’s fur, you can begin to dry the dog off. You can use a towel, dryer, or allow your dog to run outside if it is warm outside and they won’t roll around in the dirt (like my dogs seem to enjoy doing).

Once the dog is dry, you can use the flea comb again and brush your dog for any fleas that may have missed the soap. I like to have a bowl with hot water and dish soap beside me to drop the fleas into.

How to Mix Dawn to Repel Fleas

Other items you could include to make a DIY flea spray with Dawn are vinegar, apple cider vinegar, lemon, or salt. These items help repel new fleas from coming back once you have washed your dog. You would wash your dog the same way as with the regular Dawn mixture but would have an added ingredient to help your dog stay rid of fleas.

Dawn Dish Soap and White Vinegar

2 Tbs. Dawn Dish Soap

2 Tbs. White Vinegar

½ Cup of Water

For this method, simply combine ingredients into an empty spray bottle.

Dawn Dish Soap with Salt

¼ Tbs Dawn Dish Soap

¼ Cup of Iodized Table Salt

2-4 Drops of Peppermint Essential Oil

In this method, you will mix the ingredients together and then massage them onto your dog. The salt is to get into the skin and help dehydrate the fleas.  The peppermint essential oil helps repel fleas, plus it can help your dog against skin irritation.

Dawn Dish Soap with Apple Cider Vinegar

1 Tbs. Dawn Dish Soap

1 Tbs. Apple Cider Vinegar

¼ Cup of Water

Combine ingredients to make a homemade flea spray.  Add the ingredients to a spray bottle to apply directly on your pet and on other surfaces.

Dawn Dish Soap with Lemon Juice

1 Tbs. Dawn Dish Soap

1 Tbs. Lemon Juice

1 Tbs. Water

Ingredients should be combined in a spray bottle for application.

Can You Use Dawn to Kill Fleas Around the House?

“Will any of those recipes work on fleas around the house?”

You can certainly use the DIY flea spray recipes on areas like bedding, but your best bet is a trap.

How to Make a Flea Trap with Dawn Dish Soap

One way that you could use Dawn around your house to kill fleas is to make a flea trap.  If you have children or dogs around you will want to place these on cabinets and high areas that the kids and dogs cannot reach.

You can set these up at night to kill any fleas that may be left in your house.  Take a saucer, plate, or low rimmed bowl and fill with water.  Place a few drops of Dawn dish washing liquid.  Add a tea candle in the middle to lure fleas to their death.

A Word of Caution

I would recommend using extreme caution when it comes to using Dawn or any other brand of dish soap for a flea bath.

While it has certainly been proven that Dawn is effective against fleas, it’s a terrible idea to use it excessively due to the dryness and irritation it causes to your dog’s skin and fur when it strips the oils. If your dog already suffers from skin conditions, do not use Dawn for a flea bath.

If your dog does not have sensitive skin, dish soap will work in a pinch.  Sometimes it needs to be done if they have been bombarded by fleas or have gotten into something so smelly that they have left you with no choice.

Don’t forget to treat their beds! If you neglect to wash the dog’s bedding, you will end up with a reinfestation.

The post Does Dawn Dish Soap Really Kill Fleas on Dogs? appeared first on Central Park Paws.

from https://www.centralparkpaws.net/pet-health/kill-fleas-with-dawn/

[josephkitchen0]

A Beginner’s Guide to Keeping Ducks in Suburbia

Ducks can be charming companions in suburban backyards. As someone who never raised so much as a parakeet on her own, the idea that I could look out the window and watch our five full-grown, food-producing, bug-eating, fertilizer-creating waterfowl would have been pure fantasy only two years ago. Actually, it was a fantasy — a dream of my young daughter’s and mine when we moved to comparatively yard-rich Westchester County, New York from the land of tiny lawns, Westside Los Angeles. Like many urban and suburban families, we saw the cute pictures of folks with their A-frame chicken coops and their adorable backyard chickens and said, “That’s what we want!” My husband thought we were flat-out nuts but he loves fresh food and so humored us when we presented my latest eat-local scheme. (I mean, eat really local scheme.) Then, on our way to chicken ownership, we fell in love with another species altogether and decided to start keeping ducks.

Why Start Keeping Ducks?

I’m not sure that Groucho ever gave Chico a satisfactory answer but when people ask me, I give it to them straight: Why not a duck? Nothing against chickens — I like chickens, my mom kept chickens, I eat chickens — but in our particular case, ducks made more sense. As beginning poultry owners, we wanted the easiest option and our research kept suggested we start keeping ducks. Ducks are less prone to disease, more weather-hardy and easy(ish) to herd. The male is actually quieter than the female so if you want a mixed gender flock, you won’t have the same no-rooster issues that you might have with chickens. Now, please note, this means the female is louder, so if you’re in this for the duck eggs, keep that in mind. Certain duck breeds are noisier than others and, of course, more ducks make more quacks so factor that in as well.

Ducks are Delightful!

Download your FREE Guide to learn how ducks can make a perfect addition to your backyard flock. YES! I want this Free Report »

Cayugas make little noise, good for suburban living. Ask your hatchery about their birds’ temperaments before you place your order.

Why Keeping Ducks & Suburbia Go Together

Even though I didn’t know this when we started, I’m sort of amazed at how simpatico the duck is to our cul-de-sac residing, SUV-driving lifestyle. For one thing, ducks are more like feathered dogs than you might imagine. They listen, they learn, they let you direct them where they need to go. Even at barely eight-weeks-old, our teenaged ducks figured out how to leave their temporary home in the garage then waddle across the driveway to the backyard play area. We showed them once and the second day, with very little motivation, they managed it on their own, without scattering or hiding. Try that with five cats!

Getting them out of the pen is easy, you might say, and that’s true — breakfast is a great motivator — especially for me! But even though we sometimes have to pick up a straggler, most nights, bedtime is also straightforward. Often our group even put themselves to bed—it’s hard work foraging among the hydrangeas all day and they can’t always wait for me to finish the dishes.

In practical terms, this tractability means you can share waterfowl supervision with others. Even my husband, a life-long cat person, can handle pen-up duty from time to time. Some folks strike deals with their neighbors, swapping duck eggs for duck-sitting. For those longer-term situations, however, i.e. vacation, I prefer to get professional pet-sitters who come twice a day while we’re gone. “Easier than dogs,” one of our regular caregivers pronounced after his initial stint. And dogs can’t give you breakfast!

10-year-old Pamela Rosenburgh, hanging with Puff, a Buff Orpington drake.

How Many Ducks is Just Enough? 

Ducks love company. A minimum of two—ducks seem to be happier in groups. Also, if you’re having ducklings shipped to you, most companies won’t send fewer than two or three. Ducks need adequate space. On the Cornell Duck Research Lab’s website, William F. Dean, Ph.D., and Tirath S. Sandhu, DVM, Ph.D. write that laying ducks need 3.02 square feet of floor space per duck. Holderread’s guide describes a “triplex duck run” consisting of secure sleep area and covered outdoor space within a fenced, grassy yard of at least 50 square feet per bird.How Many Eggs Do You Want?Some breeds can produce several hundred eggs per year. Multiply that by each female to determine your possible output—you may have way more than you need (or want.) Remember, however, that although domestic ducks can live 7+ years, productivity peaks then declines over time. Also, sexing ducks is not 100% accurate—you might get an eggless drake (or even two! That would be us.) What’s your plan if you get Donald instead of Daisy?

Laying the Groundwork for Keeping Ducks

Before your first duck lays her first egg, though, it’s a good idea to do a little nest prep of your own. Probably the single most important item of research is making sure your local laws permit keeping ducks and if they do, what are the parameters (how many birds, how big a property, etc.). On one hand, living on the edge of a city might mean you have enough space to raise a duck or two in a healthy and wholesome manner. On the other hand, even if you have the room, your town might prefer swing sets to barnyards.

In the other good news/possibly bad news department, you might well consider soil testing before you order your birds. Many suburban lawns would in no way qualify for organic status and, for all their pretty greenness, were neither zoned nor built for food production. If your ducks are roaming, digging, eating and drinking from the products of your yard, they are ingesting whatever nutrients and less-nutritious elements may be found there. It pays to know in advance whether you’ll be able to enjoy the daily egg bounty or whether that dream will be, er, scrambled.

Last, but certainly not least, it’s a great idea to acquaint your neighbors with the news of your plans of keeping ducks before the hatchlings show up at the post office. Although you’re not starting a rooster factory (I hope), you’ll find when keeping ducks that they do make some noise from time to time. For instance, they might feel moved to send out a powerful quack when you show up in the morning with a bowl of kibble. The girls will be happy to see you at 7:00 a.m. but the fellow next door might not feel the same.

On a similar note, good fences make good poultry neighbors, especially in the ‘burbs. At our house, we went through the laborious but necessary process of surveying, permitting and installing a deer fence months before our ducks put one webbed foot on the lawn. Now, though, we can rest assured that our ducks won’t wander and friendly dogs can’t conduct unscheduled visits. Better for both sides of the fence.

The final fortified set-up in the garage—kiddie pool, poultry fencing, brooder lamp with crumble feeder and water dispenser on raised platforms.

Just Add Ducklings

Once you’ve determined that keeping ducks will work for you, time to figure out where to put ’em. If you’ve got a typical suburban set-up with attached garage, you already have the perfect housing. Actually, the more attached the better because it’s important to stay in tune with the hatchlings’ needs and the closer, the easier. Although, I’d draw the line at the guest bedroom, please.

In our garage, we began with the typical starter kit—a cardboard pen with brooder lamp and stand— but our birds quickly outgrew those tight quarters. We started raising ducklings with their food and water into a large kiddie pool frequently re-stocked with clean bedding. And I do mean “frequently.” Because as any duck person will tell you, waterfowl are messy creatures, their big floppy feet tailor-made for toppling bowls of crumble. They also produce wondrous amounts of wet poop. And five ducks, I have to admit, make an awful lot of poop. Something to think about, by the way, when calculating your property’s total waterfowl capacity.

In addition to supplemental heat, baby ducks need constant access to clean water. The tricky part is that in the early weeks, you can’t use too big a bowl as they may fall in and not be able to get out unassisted. They are waterfowl but before their adult plumage comes in, ducks can get chilled or even drown if not monitored. We used age-appropriate waterers but these had to be refilled frequently, especially since the rambunctious ducklings often knocked them over. This means—and parents of all ages will recall these days—you can’t leave the little ones alone for long stretches of daytime. For suburbanites whose primary occupation is not animal husbandry, a plan for this aspect of duck-minding will be necessary.

The five hatchlings in their starter pen.

Making Your Backyard Duck-Friendly

Even though you have about two months from hatch to outside living, it’s wise to have your ducks’ adult needs in mind from the get-go. Basically, it comes down to this: Where are they going to sleep? And what I mean by that is, where can they sleep where they won’t end up as duck dinner? Many homeowners already know about the relentless cunning raccoons employ to get into trash cans but the outcomes could be much worse when they’re after your Pekin ducks and Cayuga ducks. Do not underestimate their ability to get through fencing and undo latches! Furthermore, in your part of the country, other varmints may come take a look. Do some research and secure accordingly.

When we entered the poultry housing market in early 2012, there didn’t seem to be any duck-specific coop options for sale in the U.S. (There were a few British models but think of the shipping costs!) Most of what I found on this side of the pond was more suitable for raising chickens than keeping ducks and different fowl have different habits. Ducks, for example, don’t use chicken roosting bars, won’t necessarily fit into a small coop and can’t use those nifty nest boxes built for hens. In the end, we purchased the stylish and easy-cleaning Yolk System but as the weather warmed up, decided that the coop itself would be too cramped and hot for overnight duck use. Instead, we took advantage of the extra-long pen and, with some reinforcing of the wire enclosure, used it exclusively for sleeping quarters. The plan now is to try keeping ducks in the coop this winter but we’re still not perfectly sure if it’ll be too small (or just right) for frigid conditions. We also don’t know if the ducks will be able to navigate a chicken-friendly ramp or whether we’ll have to “assist” them. In a nor’easter, of course, they might not mind a little help.

If you don’t want to jury-rig chicken housing, you can plan on keeping ducks in a general-use structure such as a shed or even build something custom. Just remember that cleaning is a huge part of owning duck real estate. We like an outdoor pen option because it drains easily onto the lawn and can be hosed or scrubbed down as needed. Our set-up does need to be lugged around every few days to avoid creating mud bogs and it is a bit awkward getting to the eggs if the ducks won’t cooperate by laying them near a door but so far it’s a reasonable trade-off. This year, we’re also going to experiment with a deep litter system, parking it for the season once the lawn dies back. One of our neighbors pens her birds this way and then turns the fertilized space into a garden plot in the spring.

Ducks in the Mist: Afternoon lettuce snacks kept up the ducks spirits when the heat and humidity wore everyone down this past summer.

To Pond or Not to Pond

Almost everyone who finds out we have ducks asks us the same thing, do you have a pond? Our answer is, well, no. Pools not ponds are more common in suburban areas and at this point, we’re not interested in the cost and maintenance of either. Still, it’s a reasonable question. In Storey’s Guide to Raising Ducks, Dave Holderread says “ducks can be raised successfully without water for swimming.” Nonetheless, ducks are waterfowl and still need plenty of water for drinking, bathing and playing. In our backyard, we use a couple of different sources—an automatic waterer, a sheep dip for daily baths and an oversized kiddie pool for the occasional swim treat. We drain all of these overnight to avoid encouraging mosquitoes. Not that they need much encouragement.

We also invested in a few extra-long hoses of varying sizes and made sure they were rated for drinking water—like those used for boating. And, in case you’re wondering, our water bill did go up this summer but not as much as my husband feared. In all fairness, the extreme heat didn’t help but neither did our 10-year-old’s extravagant efforts to keep the ducks happy in muggy weather.

A duck will lay an egg any old place, on the deck this time.

Do You Really Need All That Lawn?

Of course, one of the hallmarks of suburban living is the manicured lawn. Perfect for keeping ducks, right? They roam around, dining on unwanted bugs, looking all decorative and peaceful. Um, sort of. The thing about ducks I didn’t know before keeping ducks is they like to play in mud. OK, right, they’re waterfowl but give them some dirt with that H20 and suddenly, they’re in hog heaven, so to speak. Even on their maiden voyage outdoors, the moment some water splashed from a dish, the ducklings dug holes in that thatch faster than a jackhammer (but, luckily, much quieter!)

Which, however, does not bode well if you’re hoping to retain that manicured lawn. Or, at least not in the same place where your ducks wander. The solution, once again, is fencing. Creating zones where you allow yourself the pleasure of grass cultivation (mowing and weeding, oh joy!) and others where you just accept that there will be less than pristine green space. Or space that is not even green at all, alas!

At our house, we’re in the process of converting the backyard in a scheme I call “anything but lawn.” For instance, we maintain ornamental plantings around the borders, including lots of shrubs where the ducks can hunker down in the hottest weather. We also installed a giant sunflower maze for our daughter and the ducks to play in and (for the ducks) to take shelter. In addition, we have two raised beds for corn as well as a pumpkin patch that, by the end of summer, takes over a huge chunk of grass. We hope to add even more features next year because, let’s face it, the less lawn you have, the less you have to mow!

Whatever you decide to do, you will need to maintain the groundcover (clover counts, right?) because you don’t want those aforementioned mud holes. Sometimes, though, I can’t get around to moving the pen fast enough so I have to mulch the bare spots and avoid those areas for a while. Well, so much for “best-laid plans.” Duck shoes, obviously, are in order.

Atten-shun! Ducks do pretty much everything together.

Home on the Free Range

And speaking of fences (again), have you thought about the effects of keeping ducks (or chickens for that matter but ducks have bigger feet) on your plants, ornamental or vegetable? It’s fine at the end of the season when they can nose through the post-harvest detritus but ducks love those sweet leaves of plant youth like nobody’s business. We learned straight off that if we wanted our corn, pumpkin, and sunflowers to make it to adulthood, we needed to get our plastic poultry fence up as soon as possible. Once secured, we let the birds noodle around the perimeter in hopes they would keep the slugs and other pests in check. We still got some bugs on the cornstalks but not too many. With a no-spray, duck-only deterrent, I actually think we did rather well.

With flowerbeds, it’s a different issue. Covering the sedum with bird mesh and caging the ferns may be effective but it sure defeats the prettifying purpose! Again, it helps to look at this as duck-allowed vs. duck-protected areas. And remember, if there’s no barricade, the ducks will come by and check stuff out. They have absolutely no sense of personal space—yours, that is. I guess it never occurred to me that our ducks would like to come up on the deck and peek into the French doors just to say hey. (Or ask for a snack.) The duck, as it turns out, is a curious bird. So without further impediment, our group goes wherever it likes—around the patio, on the deck, under the deck, along the fences, in the flowerbeds, up by the composter. This is wonderful for two reasons—one, if the weather shifts and you’re not around, you don’t have to worry that they are cooped up (literally) in uncomfortable conditions—they can seek shelter in the rhododendrons or wherever they like. Two, it’s distinctly pleasurable to walk outside and have your ducks waddle out with a quackish greeting or to glance out a window and see them moving around, busy and content. In fact, I find it truly restful just watching them go about their ducky business.

Which, come to think of it, is a perfectly good reason to start keeping ducks.

Further Reading on Keeping Ducks

For more detailed information on predator protection, housing, feeding and much more, I recommend starting with the comprehensive and newly revised Storey’s Guide to Raising Ducks by Dave Holderread, Storey Publishing, 2011 edition. Also, Ducks: Tending a Small-Scale Flock for Pleasure and Profit by Cherie Langlois, BowTie Press, 2008; and Carol Deppe offers useful tips in The Resilient Gardener: Food Production and Self-Reliance in Uncertain Times, Chelsea Green Publishing, 2010.

Photos and text ©2012 by Lori Fontanes

Newbie poultry enthusiast Lori Fontanes blogs about converting her suburban lawn into a backyard homestead.

Originally published in Backyard Poultry December 2012 / January 2013

Which Duck Breeds Are Best in Suburbia?

A response from duck expert Dave Holderread

After 50 years of keeping ducks, I’ve come to the realization that there is no “best breed” or “best breed for any given situation.” Why? Here are some of the reasons. Every micro-climate, every micro-environment is slightly different, and each strain and individual may respond slightly differently in any given situation. In fact, different strains of a breed may be as different in their response as different breeds are. Furthermore, the personality and temperament of the people who are in contact with the birds can have a profound effect on how they thrive in any given situation. In addition to the variations in temperament, etc. of people, their purposes for keeping ducks can vary widely: some people are primarily interested in meat birds, some in egg production, some for pest control, and some simply for the pleasure of watching duck antics.

So, then, there is no simple answer. Generally, my recommendation when someone asks me, “what is best…?” is that the best way to find out what works well in any situation is for people to try a variety of breeds and discover what works best for them. That said, if the primary purpose is for a larger meat bird, Muscovy, Saxony and Silver Appleyard ducks are some of my favorites. If egg production is the primary purpose, my favorite breeds include: Harlequin, Campbell, Hook Bill, Magpie, Ancona and some strains of Runners. If pest control (slugs, snails, mosquito larva, etc.) is the primary purpose, Runners, Harlequin, Hook Bill, Mini Silver Appleyard and Australian Spotted are my favorites.

A Beginner’s Guide to Keeping Ducks in Suburbia was originally posted by All About Chickens

[josephkitchen0]

A Beginner’s Guide to Keeping Ducks in Suburbia

Ducks can be charming companions in suburban backyards. As someone who never raised so much as a parakeet on her own, the idea that I could look out the window and watch our five full-grown, food-producing, bug-eating, fertilizer-creating waterfowl would have been pure fantasy only two years ago. Actually, it was a fantasy — a dream of my young daughter’s and mine when we moved to comparatively yard-rich Westchester County, New York from the land of tiny lawns, Westside Los Angeles. Like many urban and suburban families, we saw the cute pictures of folks with their A-frame chicken coops and their adorable backyard chickens and said, “That’s what we want!” My husband thought we were flat-out nuts but he loves fresh food and so humored us when we presented my latest eat-local scheme. (I mean, eat really local scheme.) Then, on our way to chicken ownership, we fell in love with another species altogether and decided to start keeping ducks.

Why Start Keeping Ducks?

I’m not sure that Groucho ever gave Chico a satisfactory answer but when people ask me, I give it to them straight: Why not a duck? Nothing against chickens — I like chickens, my mom kept chickens, I eat chickens — but in our particular case, ducks made more sense. As beginning poultry owners, we wanted the easiest option and our research kept suggested we start keeping ducks. Ducks are less prone to disease, more weather-hardy and easy(ish) to herd. The male is actually quieter than the female so if you want a mixed gender flock, you won’t have the same no-rooster issues that you might have with chickens. Now, please note, this means the female is louder, so if you’re in this for the duck eggs, keep that in mind. Certain duck breeds are noisier than others and, of course, more ducks make more quacks so factor that in as well.

Ducks are Delightful!

Download your FREE Guide to learn how ducks can make a perfect addition to your backyard flock. YES! I want this Free Report »

Cayugas make little noise, good for suburban living. Ask your hatchery about their birds’ temperaments before you place your order.

Why Keeping Ducks & Suburbia Go Together

Even though I didn’t know this when we started, I’m sort of amazed at how simpatico the duck is to our cul-de-sac residing, SUV-driving lifestyle. For one thing, ducks are more like feathered dogs than you might imagine. They listen, they learn, they let you direct them where they need to go. Even at barely eight-weeks-old, our teenaged ducks figured out how to leave their temporary home in the garage then waddle across the driveway to the backyard play area. We showed them once and the second day, with very little motivation, they managed it on their own, without scattering or hiding. Try that with five cats!

Getting them out of the pen is easy, you might say, and that’s true — breakfast is a great motivator — especially for me! But even though we sometimes have to pick up a straggler, most nights, bedtime is also straightforward. Often our group even put themselves to bed—it’s hard work foraging among the hydrangeas all day and they can’t always wait for me to finish the dishes.

In practical terms, this tractability means you can share waterfowl supervision with others. Even my husband, a life-long cat person, can handle pen-up duty from time to time. Some folks strike deals with their neighbors, swapping duck eggs for duck-sitting. For those longer-term situations, however, i.e. vacation, I prefer to get professional pet-sitters who come twice a day while we’re gone. “Easier than dogs,” one of our regular caregivers pronounced after his initial stint. And dogs can’t give you breakfast!

10-year-old Pamela Rosenburgh, hanging with Puff, a Buff Orpington drake.

How Many Ducks is Just Enough? 

Ducks love company. A minimum of two—ducks seem to be happier in groups. Also, if you’re having ducklings shipped to you, most companies won’t send fewer than two or three. Ducks need adequate space. On the Cornell Duck Research Lab’s website, William F. Dean, Ph.D., and Tirath S. Sandhu, DVM, Ph.D. write that laying ducks need 3.02 square feet of floor space per duck. Holderread’s guide describes a “triplex duck run” consisting of secure sleep area and covered outdoor space within a fenced, grassy yard of at least 50 square feet per bird.How Many Eggs Do You Want?Some breeds can produce several hundred eggs per year. Multiply that by each female to determine your possible output—you may have way more than you need (or want.) Remember, however, that although domestic ducks can live 7+ years, productivity peaks then declines over time. Also, sexing ducks is not 100% accurate—you might get an eggless drake (or even two! That would be us.) What’s your plan if you get Donald instead of Daisy?

Laying the Groundwork for Keeping Ducks

Before your first duck lays her first egg, though, it’s a good idea to do a little nest prep of your own. Probably the single most important item of research is making sure your local laws permit keeping ducks and if they do, what are the parameters (how many birds, how big a property, etc.). On one hand, living on the edge of a city might mean you have enough space to raise a duck or two in a healthy and wholesome manner. On the other hand, even if you have the room, your town might prefer swing sets to barnyards.

In the other good news/possibly bad news department, you might well consider soil testing before you order your birds. Many suburban lawns would in no way qualify for organic status and, for all their pretty greenness, were neither zoned nor built for food production. If your ducks are roaming, digging, eating and drinking from the products of your yard, they are ingesting whatever nutrients and less-nutritious elements may be found there. It pays to know in advance whether you’ll be able to enjoy the daily egg bounty or whether that dream will be, er, scrambled.

Last, but certainly not least, it’s a great idea to acquaint your neighbors with the news of your plans of keeping ducks before the hatchlings show up at the post office. Although you’re not starting a rooster factory (I hope), you’ll find when keeping ducks that they do make some noise from time to time. For instance, they might feel moved to send out a powerful quack when you show up in the morning with a bowl of kibble. The girls will be happy to see you at 7:00 a.m. but the fellow next door might not feel the same.

On a similar note, good fences make good poultry neighbors, especially in the ‘burbs. At our house, we went through the laborious but necessary process of surveying, permitting and installing a deer fence months before our ducks put one webbed foot on the lawn. Now, though, we can rest assured that our ducks won’t wander and friendly dogs can’t conduct unscheduled visits. Better for both sides of the fence.

The final fortified set-up in the garage—kiddie pool, poultry fencing, brooder lamp with crumble feeder and water dispenser on raised platforms.

Just Add Ducklings

Once you’ve determined that keeping ducks will work for you, time to figure out where to put ’em. If you’ve got a typical suburban set-up with attached garage, you already have the perfect housing. Actually, the more attached the better because it’s important to stay in tune with the hatchlings’ needs and the closer, the easier. Although, I’d draw the line at the guest bedroom, please.

In our garage, we began with the typical starter kit—a cardboard pen with brooder lamp and stand— but our birds quickly outgrew those tight quarters. We started raising ducklings with their food and water into a large kiddie pool frequently re-stocked with clean bedding. And I do mean “frequently.” Because as any duck person will tell you, waterfowl are messy creatures, their big floppy feet tailor-made for toppling bowls of crumble. They also produce wondrous amounts of wet poop. And five ducks, I have to admit, make an awful lot of poop. Something to think about, by the way, when calculating your property’s total waterfowl capacity.

In addition to supplemental heat, baby ducks need constant access to clean water. The tricky part is that in the early weeks, you can’t use too big a bowl as they may fall in and not be able to get out unassisted. They are waterfowl but before their adult plumage comes in, ducks can get chilled or even drown if not monitored. We used age-appropriate waterers but these had to be refilled frequently, especially since the rambunctious ducklings often knocked them over. This means—and parents of all ages will recall these days—you can’t leave the little ones alone for long stretches of daytime. For suburbanites whose primary occupation is not animal husbandry, a plan for this aspect of duck-minding will be necessary.

The five hatchlings in their starter pen.

Making Your Backyard Duck-Friendly

Even though you have about two months from hatch to outside living, it’s wise to have your ducks’ adult needs in mind from the get-go. Basically, it comes down to this: Where are they going to sleep? And what I mean by that is, where can they sleep where they won’t end up as duck dinner? Many homeowners already know about the relentless cunning raccoons employ to get into trash cans but the outcomes could be much worse when they’re after your Pekin ducks and Cayuga ducks. Do not underestimate their ability to get through fencing and undo latches! Furthermore, in your part of the country, other varmints may come take a look. Do some research and secure accordingly.

When we entered the poultry housing market in early 2012, there didn’t seem to be any duck-specific coop options for sale in the U.S. (There were a few British models but think of the shipping costs!) Most of what I found on this side of the pond was more suitable for raising chickens than keeping ducks and different fowl have different habits. Ducks, for example, don’t use chicken roosting bars, won’t necessarily fit into a small coop and can’t use those nifty nest boxes built for hens. In the end, we purchased the stylish and easy-cleaning Yolk System but as the weather warmed up, decided that the coop itself would be too cramped and hot for overnight duck use. Instead, we took advantage of the extra-long pen and, with some reinforcing of the wire enclosure, used it exclusively for sleeping quarters. The plan now is to try keeping ducks in the coop this winter but we’re still not perfectly sure if it’ll be too small (or just right) for frigid conditions. We also don’t know if the ducks will be able to navigate a chicken-friendly ramp or whether we’ll have to “assist” them. In a nor’easter, of course, they might not mind a little help.

If you don’t want to jury-rig chicken housing, you can plan on keeping ducks in a general-use structure such as a shed or even build something custom. Just remember that cleaning is a huge part of owning duck real estate. We like an outdoor pen option because it drains easily onto the lawn and can be hosed or scrubbed down as needed. Our set-up does need to be lugged around every few days to avoid creating mud bogs and it is a bit awkward getting to the eggs if the ducks won’t cooperate by laying them near a door but so far it’s a reasonable trade-off. This year, we’re also going to experiment with a deep litter system, parking it for the season once the lawn dies back. One of our neighbors pens her birds this way and then turns the fertilized space into a garden plot in the spring.

Ducks in the Mist: Afternoon lettuce snacks kept up the ducks spirits when the heat and humidity wore everyone down this past summer.

To Pond or Not to Pond

Almost everyone who finds out we have ducks asks us the same thing, do you have a pond? Our answer is, well, no. Pools not ponds are more common in suburban areas and at this point, we’re not interested in the cost and maintenance of either. Still, it’s a reasonable question. In Storey’s Guide to Raising Ducks, Dave Holderread says “ducks can be raised successfully without water for swimming.” Nonetheless, ducks are waterfowl and still need plenty of water for drinking, bathing and playing. In our backyard, we use a couple of different sources—an automatic waterer, a sheep dip for daily baths and an oversized kiddie pool for the occasional swim treat. We drain all of these overnight to avoid encouraging mosquitoes. Not that they need much encouragement.

We also invested in a few extra-long hoses of varying sizes and made sure they were rated for drinking water—like those used for boating. And, in case you’re wondering, our water bill did go up this summer but not as much as my husband feared. In all fairness, the extreme heat didn’t help but neither did our 10-year-old’s extravagant efforts to keep the ducks happy in muggy weather.

A duck will lay an egg any old place, on the deck this time.

Do You Really Need All That Lawn?

Of course, one of the hallmarks of suburban living is the manicured lawn. Perfect for keeping ducks, right? They roam around, dining on unwanted bugs, looking all decorative and peaceful. Um, sort of. The thing about ducks I didn’t know before keeping ducks is they like to play in mud. OK, right, they’re waterfowl but give them some dirt with that H20 and suddenly, they’re in hog heaven, so to speak. Even on their maiden voyage outdoors, the moment some water splashed from a dish, the ducklings dug holes in that thatch faster than a jackhammer (but, luckily, much quieter!)

Which, however, does not bode well if you’re hoping to retain that manicured lawn. Or, at least not in the same place where your ducks wander. The solution, once again, is fencing. Creating zones where you allow yourself the pleasure of grass cultivation (mowing and weeding, oh joy!) and others where you just accept that there will be less than pristine green space. Or space that is not even green at all, alas!

At our house, we’re in the process of converting the backyard in a scheme I call “anything but lawn.” For instance, we maintain ornamental plantings around the borders, including lots of shrubs where the ducks can hunker down in the hottest weather. We also installed a giant sunflower maze for our daughter and the ducks to play in and (for the ducks) to take shelter. In addition, we have two raised beds for corn as well as a pumpkin patch that, by the end of summer, takes over a huge chunk of grass. We hope to add even more features next year because, let’s face it, the less lawn you have, the less you have to mow!

Whatever you decide to do, you will need to maintain the groundcover (clover counts, right?) because you don’t want those aforementioned mud holes. Sometimes, though, I can’t get around to moving the pen fast enough so I have to mulch the bare spots and avoid those areas for a while. Well, so much for “best-laid plans.” Duck shoes, obviously, are in order.

Atten-shun! Ducks do pretty much everything together.

Home on the Free Range

And speaking of fences (again), have you thought about the effects of keeping ducks (or chickens for that matter but ducks have bigger feet) on your plants, ornamental or vegetable? It’s fine at the end of the season when they can nose through the post-harvest detritus but ducks love those sweet leaves of plant youth like nobody’s business. We learned straight off that if we wanted our corn, pumpkin, and sunflowers to make it to adulthood, we needed to get our plastic poultry fence up as soon as possible. Once secured, we let the birds noodle around the perimeter in hopes they would keep the slugs and other pests in check. We still got some bugs on the cornstalks but not too many. With a no-spray, duck-only deterrent, I actually think we did rather well.

With flowerbeds, it’s a different issue. Covering the sedum with bird mesh and caging the ferns may be effective but it sure defeats the prettifying purpose! Again, it helps to look at this as duck-allowed vs. duck-protected areas. And remember, if there’s no barricade, the ducks will come by and check stuff out. They have absolutely no sense of personal space—yours, that is. I guess it never occurred to me that our ducks would like to come up on the deck and peek into the French doors just to say hey. (Or ask for a snack.) The duck, as it turns out, is a curious bird. So without further impediment, our group goes wherever it likes—around the patio, on the deck, under the deck, along the fences, in the flowerbeds, up by the composter. This is wonderful for two reasons—one, if the weather shifts and you’re not around, you don’t have to worry that they are cooped up (literally) in uncomfortable conditions—they can seek shelter in the rhododendrons or wherever they like. Two, it’s distinctly pleasurable to walk outside and have your ducks waddle out with a quackish greeting or to glance out a window and see them moving around, busy and content. In fact, I find it truly restful just watching them go about their ducky business.

Which, come to think of it, is a perfectly good reason to start keeping ducks.

Further Reading on Keeping Ducks

For more detailed information on predator protection, housing, feeding and much more, I recommend starting with the comprehensive and newly revised Storey’s Guide to Raising Ducks by Dave Holderread, Storey Publishing, 2011 edition. Also, Ducks: Tending a Small-Scale Flock for Pleasure and Profit by Cherie Langlois, BowTie Press, 2008; and Carol Deppe offers useful tips in The Resilient Gardener: Food Production and Self-Reliance in Uncertain Times, Chelsea Green Publishing, 2010.

Photos and text ©2012 by Lori Fontanes

Newbie poultry enthusiast Lori Fontanes blogs about converting her suburban lawn into a backyard homestead.

Originally published in Backyard Poultry December 2012 / January 2013

Which Duck Breeds Are Best in Suburbia?

A response from duck expert Dave Holderread

After 50 years of keeping ducks, I’ve come to the realization that there is no “best breed” or “best breed for any given situation.” Why? Here are some of the reasons. Every micro-climate, every micro-environment is slightly different, and each strain and individual may respond slightly differently in any given situation. In fact, different strains of a breed may be as different in their response as different breeds are. Furthermore, the personality and temperament of the people who are in contact with the birds can have a profound effect on how they thrive in any given situation. In addition to the variations in temperament, etc. of people, their purposes for keeping ducks can vary widely: some people are primarily interested in meat birds, some in egg production, some for pest control, and some simply for the pleasure of watching duck antics.

So, then, there is no simple answer. Generally, my recommendation when someone asks me, “what is best…?” is that the best way to find out what works well in any situation is for people to try a variety of breeds and discover what works best for them. That said, if the primary purpose is for a larger meat bird, Muscovy, Saxony and Silver Appleyard ducks are some of my favorites. If egg production is the primary purpose, my favorite breeds include: Harlequin, Campbell, Hook Bill, Magpie, Ancona and some strains of Runners. If pest control (slugs, snails, mosquito larva, etc.) is the primary purpose, Runners, Harlequin, Hook Bill, Mini Silver Appleyard and Australian Spotted are my favorites.

A Beginner’s Guide to Keeping Ducks in Suburbia was originally posted by All About Chickens

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A Beginner’s Guide to Keeping Ducks in Suburbia

Ducks can be charming companions in suburban backyards. As someone who never raised so much as a parakeet on her own, the idea that I could look out the window and watch our five full-grown, food-producing, bug-eating, fertilizer-creating waterfowl would have been pure fantasy only two years ago. Actually, it was a fantasy — a dream of my young daughter’s and mine when we moved to comparatively yard-rich Westchester County, New York from the land of tiny lawns, Westside Los Angeles. Like many urban and suburban families, we saw the cute pictures of folks with their A-frame chicken coops and their adorable backyard chickens and said, “That’s what we want!” My husband thought we were flat-out nuts but he loves fresh food and so humored us when we presented my latest eat-local scheme. (I mean, eat really local scheme.) Then, on our way to chicken ownership, we fell in love with another species altogether and decided to start keeping ducks.

Why Start Keeping Ducks?

I’m not sure that Groucho ever gave Chico a satisfactory answer but when people ask me, I give it to them straight: Why not a duck? Nothing against chickens — I like chickens, my mom kept chickens, I eat chickens — but in our particular case, ducks made more sense. As beginning poultry owners, we wanted the easiest option and our research kept suggested we start keeping ducks. Ducks are less prone to disease, more weather-hardy and easy(ish) to herd. The male is actually quieter than the female so if you want a mixed gender flock, you won’t have the same no-rooster issues that you might have with chickens. Now, please note, this means the female is louder, so if you’re in this for the duck eggs, keep that in mind. Certain duck breeds are noisier than others and, of course, more ducks make more quacks so factor that in as well.

Ducks are Delightful!

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Cayugas make little noise, good for suburban living. Ask your hatchery about their birds’ temperaments before you place your order.

Why Keeping Ducks & Suburbia Go Together

Even though I didn’t know this when we started, I’m sort of amazed at how simpatico the duck is to our cul-de-sac residing, SUV-driving lifestyle. For one thing, ducks are more like feathered dogs than you might imagine. They listen, they learn, they let you direct them where they need to go. Even at barely eight-weeks-old, our teenaged ducks figured out how to leave their temporary home in the garage then waddle across the driveway to the backyard play area. We showed them once and the second day, with very little motivation, they managed it on their own, without scattering or hiding. Try that with five cats!

Getting them out of the pen is easy, you might say, and that’s true — breakfast is a great motivator — especially for me! But even though we sometimes have to pick up a straggler, most nights, bedtime is also straightforward. Often our group even put themselves to bed—it’s hard work foraging among the hydrangeas all day and they can’t always wait for me to finish the dishes.

In practical terms, this tractability means you can share waterfowl supervision with others. Even my husband, a life-long cat person, can handle pen-up duty from time to time. Some folks strike deals with their neighbors, swapping duck eggs for duck-sitting. For those longer-term situations, however, i.e. vacation, I prefer to get professional pet-sitters who come twice a day while we’re gone. “Easier than dogs,” one of our regular caregivers pronounced after his initial stint. And dogs can’t give you breakfast!

10-year-old Pamela Rosenburgh, hanging with Puff, a Buff Orpington drake.

How Many Ducks is Just Enough? 

Ducks love company. A minimum of two—ducks seem to be happier in groups. Also, if you’re having ducklings shipped to you, most companies won’t send fewer than two or three. Ducks need adequate space. On the Cornell Duck Research Lab’s website, William F. Dean, Ph.D., and Tirath S. Sandhu, DVM, Ph.D. write that laying ducks need 3.02 square feet of floor space per duck. Holderread’s guide describes a “triplex duck run” consisting of secure sleep area and covered outdoor space within a fenced, grassy yard of at least 50 square feet per bird.How Many Eggs Do You Want?Some breeds can produce several hundred eggs per year. Multiply that by each female to determine your possible output—you may have way more than you need (or want.) Remember, however, that although domestic ducks can live 7+ years, productivity peaks then declines over time. Also, sexing ducks is not 100% accurate—you might get an eggless drake (or even two! That would be us.) What’s your plan if you get Donald instead of Daisy?

Laying the Groundwork for Keeping Ducks

Before your first duck lays her first egg, though, it’s a good idea to do a little nest prep of your own. Probably the single most important item of research is making sure your local laws permit keeping ducks and if they do, what are the parameters (how many birds, how big a property, etc.). On one hand, living on the edge of a city might mean you have enough space to raise a duck or two in a healthy and wholesome manner. On the other hand, even if you have the room, your town might prefer swing sets to barnyards.

In the other good news/possibly bad news department, you might well consider soil testing before you order your birds. Many suburban lawns would in no way qualify for organic status and, for all their pretty greenness, were neither zoned nor built for food production. If your ducks are roaming, digging, eating and drinking from the products of your yard, they are ingesting whatever nutrients and less-nutritious elements may be found there. It pays to know in advance whether you’ll be able to enjoy the daily egg bounty or whether that dream will be, er, scrambled.

Last, but certainly not least, it’s a great idea to acquaint your neighbors with the news of your plans of keeping ducks before the hatchlings show up at the post office. Although you’re not starting a rooster factory (I hope), you’ll find when keeping ducks that they do make some noise from time to time. For instance, they might feel moved to send out a powerful quack when you show up in the morning with a bowl of kibble. The girls will be happy to see you at 7:00 a.m. but the fellow next door might not feel the same.

On a similar note, good fences make good poultry neighbors, especially in the ‘burbs. At our house, we went through the laborious but necessary process of surveying, permitting and installing a deer fence months before our ducks put one webbed foot on the lawn. Now, though, we can rest assured that our ducks won’t wander and friendly dogs can’t conduct unscheduled visits. Better for both sides of the fence.

The final fortified set-up in the garage—kiddie pool, poultry fencing, brooder lamp with crumble feeder and water dispenser on raised platforms.

Just Add Ducklings

Once you’ve determined that keeping ducks will work for you, time to figure out where to put ’em. If you’ve got a typical suburban set-up with attached garage, you already have the perfect housing. Actually, the more attached the better because it’s important to stay in tune with the hatchlings’ needs and the closer, the easier. Although, I’d draw the line at the guest bedroom, please.

In our garage, we began with the typical starter kit—a cardboard pen with brooder lamp and stand— but our birds quickly outgrew those tight quarters. We started raising ducklings with their food and water into a large kiddie pool frequently re-stocked with clean bedding. And I do mean “frequently.” Because as any duck person will tell you, waterfowl are messy creatures, their big floppy feet tailor-made for toppling bowls of crumble. They also produce wondrous amounts of wet poop. And five ducks, I have to admit, make an awful lot of poop. Something to think about, by the way, when calculating your property’s total waterfowl capacity.

In addition to supplemental heat, baby ducks need constant access to clean water. The tricky part is that in the early weeks, you can’t use too big a bowl as they may fall in and not be able to get out unassisted. They are waterfowl but before their adult plumage comes in, ducks can get chilled or even drown if not monitored. We used age-appropriate waterers but these had to be refilled frequently, especially since the rambunctious ducklings often knocked them over. This means—and parents of all ages will recall these days—you can’t leave the little ones alone for long stretches of daytime. For suburbanites whose primary occupation is not animal husbandry, a plan for this aspect of duck-minding will be necessary.

The five hatchlings in their starter pen.

Making Your Backyard Duck-Friendly

Even though you have about two months from hatch to outside living, it’s wise to have your ducks’ adult needs in mind from the get-go. Basically, it comes down to this: Where are they going to sleep? And what I mean by that is, where can they sleep where they won’t end up as duck dinner? Many homeowners already know about the relentless cunning raccoons employ to get into trash cans but the outcomes could be much worse when they’re after your Pekin ducks and Cayuga ducks. Do not underestimate their ability to get through fencing and undo latches! Furthermore, in your part of the country, other varmints may come take a look. Do some research and secure accordingly.

When we entered the poultry housing market in early 2012, there didn’t seem to be any duck-specific coop options for sale in the U.S. (There were a few British models but think of the shipping costs!) Most of what I found on this side of the pond was more suitable for raising chickens than keeping ducks and different fowl have different habits. Ducks, for example, don’t use chicken roosting bars, won’t necessarily fit into a small coop and can’t use those nifty nest boxes built for hens. In the end, we purchased the stylish and easy-cleaning Yolk System but as the weather warmed up, decided that the coop itself would be too cramped and hot for overnight duck use. Instead, we took advantage of the extra-long pen and, with some reinforcing of the wire enclosure, used it exclusively for sleeping quarters. The plan now is to try keeping ducks in the coop this winter but we’re still not perfectly sure if it’ll be too small (or just right) for frigid conditions. We also don’t know if the ducks will be able to navigate a chicken-friendly ramp or whether we’ll have to “assist” them. In a nor’easter, of course, they might not mind a little help.

If you don’t want to jury-rig chicken housing, you can plan on keeping ducks in a general-use structure such as a shed or even build something custom. Just remember that cleaning is a huge part of owning duck real estate. We like an outdoor pen option because it drains easily onto the lawn and can be hosed or scrubbed down as needed. Our set-up does need to be lugged around every few days to avoid creating mud bogs and it is a bit awkward getting to the eggs if the ducks won’t cooperate by laying them near a door but so far it’s a reasonable trade-off. This year, we’re also going to experiment with a deep litter system, parking it for the season once the lawn dies back. One of our neighbors pens her birds this way and then turns the fertilized space into a garden plot in the spring.

Ducks in the Mist: Afternoon lettuce snacks kept up the ducks spirits when the heat and humidity wore everyone down this past summer.

To Pond or Not to Pond

Almost everyone who finds out we have ducks asks us the same thing, do you have a pond? Our answer is, well, no. Pools not ponds are more common in suburban areas and at this point, we’re not interested in the cost and maintenance of either. Still, it’s a reasonable question. In Storey’s Guide to Raising Ducks, Dave Holderread says “ducks can be raised successfully without water for swimming.” Nonetheless, ducks are waterfowl and still need plenty of water for drinking, bathing and playing. In our backyard, we use a couple of different sources—an automatic waterer, a sheep dip for daily baths and an oversized kiddie pool for the occasional swim treat. We drain all of these overnight to avoid encouraging mosquitoes. Not that they need much encouragement.

We also invested in a few extra-long hoses of varying sizes and made sure they were rated for drinking water—like those used for boating. And, in case you’re wondering, our water bill did go up this summer but not as much as my husband feared. In all fairness, the extreme heat didn’t help but neither did our 10-year-old’s extravagant efforts to keep the ducks happy in muggy weather.

A duck will lay an egg any old place, on the deck this time.

Do You Really Need All That Lawn?

Of course, one of the hallmarks of suburban living is the manicured lawn. Perfect for keeping ducks, right? They roam around, dining on unwanted bugs, looking all decorative and peaceful. Um, sort of. The thing about ducks I didn’t know before keeping ducks is they like to play in mud. OK, right, they’re waterfowl but give them some dirt with that H20 and suddenly, they’re in hog heaven, so to speak. Even on their maiden voyage outdoors, the moment some water splashed from a dish, the ducklings dug holes in that thatch faster than a jackhammer (but, luckily, much quieter!)

Which, however, does not bode well if you’re hoping to retain that manicured lawn. Or, at least not in the same place where your ducks wander. The solution, once again, is fencing. Creating zones where you allow yourself the pleasure of grass cultivation (mowing and weeding, oh joy!) and others where you just accept that there will be less than pristine green space. Or space that is not even green at all, alas!

At our house, we’re in the process of converting the backyard in a scheme I call “anything but lawn.” For instance, we maintain ornamental plantings around the borders, including lots of shrubs where the ducks can hunker down in the hottest weather. We also installed a giant sunflower maze for our daughter and the ducks to play in and (for the ducks) to take shelter. In addition, we have two raised beds for corn as well as a pumpkin patch that, by the end of summer, takes over a huge chunk of grass. We hope to add even more features next year because, let’s face it, the less lawn you have, the less you have to mow!

Whatever you decide to do, you will need to maintain the groundcover (clover counts, right?) because you don’t want those aforementioned mud holes. Sometimes, though, I can’t get around to moving the pen fast enough so I have to mulch the bare spots and avoid those areas for a while. Well, so much for “best-laid plans.” Duck shoes, obviously, are in order.

Atten-shun! Ducks do pretty much everything together.

Home on the Free Range

And speaking of fences (again), have you thought about the effects of keeping ducks (or chickens for that matter but ducks have bigger feet) on your plants, ornamental or vegetable? It’s fine at the end of the season when they can nose through the post-harvest detritus but ducks love those sweet leaves of plant youth like nobody’s business. We learned straight off that if we wanted our corn, pumpkin, and sunflowers to make it to adulthood, we needed to get our plastic poultry fence up as soon as possible. Once secured, we let the birds noodle around the perimeter in hopes they would keep the slugs and other pests in check. We still got some bugs on the cornstalks but not too many. With a no-spray, duck-only deterrent, I actually think we did rather well.

With flowerbeds, it’s a different issue. Covering the sedum with bird mesh and caging the ferns may be effective but it sure defeats the prettifying purpose! Again, it helps to look at this as duck-allowed vs. duck-protected areas. And remember, if there’s no barricade, the ducks will come by and check stuff out. They have absolutely no sense of personal space—yours, that is. I guess it never occurred to me that our ducks would like to come up on the deck and peek into the French doors just to say hey. (Or ask for a snack.) The duck, as it turns out, is a curious bird. So without further impediment, our group goes wherever it likes—around the patio, on the deck, under the deck, along the fences, in the flowerbeds, up by the composter. This is wonderful for two reasons—one, if the weather shifts and you’re not around, you don’t have to worry that they are cooped up (literally) in uncomfortable conditions—they can seek shelter in the rhododendrons or wherever they like. Two, it’s distinctly pleasurable to walk outside and have your ducks waddle out with a quackish greeting or to glance out a window and see them moving around, busy and content. In fact, I find it truly restful just watching them go about their ducky business.

Which, come to think of it, is a perfectly good reason to start keeping ducks.

Further Reading on Keeping Ducks

For more detailed information on predator protection, housing, feeding and much more, I recommend starting with the comprehensive and newly revised Storey’s Guide to Raising Ducks by Dave Holderread, Storey Publishing, 2011 edition. Also, Ducks: Tending a Small-Scale Flock for Pleasure and Profit by Cherie Langlois, BowTie Press, 2008; and Carol Deppe offers useful tips in The Resilient Gardener: Food Production and Self-Reliance in Uncertain Times, Chelsea Green Publishing, 2010.

Photos and text ©2012 by Lori Fontanes

Newbie poultry enthusiast Lori Fontanes blogs about converting her suburban lawn into a backyard homestead.

Originally published in Backyard Poultry December 2012 / January 2013

Which Duck Breeds Are Best in Suburbia?

A response from duck expert Dave Holderread

After 50 years of keeping ducks, I’ve come to the realization that there is no “best breed” or “best breed for any given situation.” Why? Here are some of the reasons. Every micro-climate, every micro-environment is slightly different, and each strain and individual may respond slightly differently in any given situation. In fact, different strains of a breed may be as different in their response as different breeds are. Furthermore, the personality and temperament of the people who are in contact with the birds can have a profound effect on how they thrive in any given situation. In addition to the variations in temperament, etc. of people, their purposes for keeping ducks can vary widely: some people are primarily interested in meat birds, some in egg production, some for pest control, and some simply for the pleasure of watching duck antics.

So, then, there is no simple answer. Generally, my recommendation when someone asks me, “what is best…?” is that the best way to find out what works well in any situation is for people to try a variety of breeds and discover what works best for them. That said, if the primary purpose is for a larger meat bird, Muscovy, Saxony and Silver Appleyard ducks are some of my favorites. If egg production is the primary purpose, my favorite breeds include: Harlequin, Campbell, Hook Bill, Magpie, Ancona and some strains of Runners. If pest control (slugs, snails, mosquito larva, etc.) is the primary purpose, Runners, Harlequin, Hook Bill, Mini Silver Appleyard and Australian Spotted are my favorites.

A Beginner’s Guide to Keeping Ducks in Suburbia was originally posted by All About Chickens