Apr. 2nd, 2017 11:13 am
summer_jackel: (Zhava Running)
Joy can be expressed
through the awareness of two ducks floating
webs in water
bills in water

(Hi Livejournal! You can totally see how not ready I am for this right now. I have been writing a lot, though, so there will be more writing things soon!)
summer_jackel: (Zhava Running)
Do not attempt to savage me with your bill
as I put you in your crate at night,
you obnoxious little bird.
If you did not pick fights with the other ducks,
you would still be staying with them.


Apr. 4th, 2015 10:43 pm
summer_jackel: (Zhava Running)
This morning, my pet duck
propositioned me romantically.
I had to turn him down,
but I'll admit to being a little flattered
while I laughed, and turned aside
his persistent bill, as he tried to move my hand.
summer_jackel: (Zhava Running)
Bills down and awkward in the new spring mud,
love among the web-footed is, if not graceful
then at least emphatic
and not without joy.


Hello, LJ!  Once again, I am trying my paw at NaPoWriMo.  This is my third year (fourth?) and I've pulled it off so far,  with the understanding that at least some, possibly all, of my daily offerings will be either doggerel or three lines about ducks.  But here, for this morning, four lines about duck sex.  My flock are being positively pornographic right now.
summer_jackel: (Coba profile)
I cherish little canine epiphanies. This morning, Coba made the first glimmerings of connection between what I was asking him to do and the movement of ducks, that crucial first bit of mutual understanding, excitement and willing participation that I needed in order to teach him to herd them.

A long, rambling explanation, with too much detail, of how this wonderful event came to be. )
summer_jackel: (Default)
I haven't done one of these for awhile!


The hound continues to grow.

Dogs, Ducks and garden )
summer_jackel: (Default)
The five ducklings I acquired this spring have become a handsome, shiny flock of young ducks, and have been joined by a completely superfluous pigeon-size bantam drake. I got them a bigger pool today, and while its sides look taller at home than they did at the hardware store, it's only breast height on them, so they should be able to get in and out. I just put them away for the night and it looks like they finally managed, but it took them hours.

Watching a flock of ducks sadly stare at a tub of water, trying to figure out how to climb into it, was almost as entertaining as watching them eat plums.
summer_jackel: (Default)
Here are some progress photos of the four little yearling-graft Japanese maples I brought home last summer.

The red dragon.

trees and ducks! )
summer_jackel: (Default)
When I was small, my mother told me
about a man she had once known, perhaps
a friend of hers from college.
A shy man, he had had such talent,
and was so bright, but he had suffered
a series of setbacks in life; the loss
of a love or career, or possibly both.

He was never the same, she said
with regret. He stayed away from people
after that, lost confidence. Retreated
to a small house in the woods, and kept
a flock of runner ducks. And then,
I learned about long, skinny, silly
ducks who run better than they swim.

He was a lot like his ducks, she said.
Such a shame about him. I listened,
but formed my own opinions, for I also kept
a flock of ducks, and do, and will persist
in doing: imagining a man who lived alone,
with his flock of runner ducks, and understanding
that he had found a path to happiness.
summer_jackel: (Default)
In the evening shade, after a long hot day
one young duck, still patchily in down,
her webbing tender, her bill a graceful sweep,
resting on my lap, half-feathered, dirty and content.
summer_jackel: (Default)
I have ducks again, a flock of five little runners. These pictures weren't posed; I let the ducklings have a little free time in the yard, and Rogue, in a moment of exemplary Shetland Sheepdog character, lay down near them and kept an eye on them. Good dog, Rogue.


Sheltie and duckings )
summer_jackel: (Default)
One mallard flies across a gray morning sky;
that evening, a bufflehead bobs lightly
between slate waves and darkness.

...can you write a poem about a bufflehead and have it taken seriously? I could make it a goldeneye, but the duck in my head is a bufflehead and it doesn't seem right to change it. They are serious small ducks; respect them.

Today was obnoxious, but hey, ducks.
summer_jackel: (Default)
Ballroom Ducks

When the task of learning to dance seems overmuch absurd
I recall the shape of ducks on land; their webbed feet,
the unfortunate waddle.
But see them once upon the water, and they become a different beast.
I think it’s wishful thinking in my case,
but one can only hope.


Apr. 9th, 2011 03:14 pm
summer_jackel: (Default)

One Pacific duck bobs down and up in foam
and I remember that there dwells a joy
not half a breath from drowning.

(This poem was yesterday's).
summer_jackel: (Default)
There is always sorrow.
It is enough to have seen two ducks
dance across still water at sundown.


May. 5th, 2010 05:23 pm
summer_jackel: (Bey Horselaugh)
I hate to be without ducks, and I am duckless no longer. Meet Sauvage and Sirah, the two newest additions to my poultry yard. They're black Indian Runners, and hopefully at least one of them is a hen who will lay lovely eggs.

The chicken coop retrofit is about half done, with the chicks now safely outside in an unlovely but raccoon-proof coop. By the time these cuties feather and are ready to live outside, all should be finished. Until then, they are living in the house, being adorable, disgusting little messy, water-loving ducks. yay!


Sauvage and Sirah )


Apr. 27th, 2010 04:57 pm
summer_jackel: (coy face beautiful/serious/sad)
Cheeping in a bed of sawdust under a light:
tiny bills
new webbing
rich down.
In a week they will be ducks
and I will wish them
out of my house
making their messy, muddy joy outside,
where they belong
and can't be for another month.
For now, they are tenderness
delight, sweetness
and all the hope of spring.
summer_jackel: (Default)
One merganser on a wide green river
what came before joy and after sorrow;
this great emptiness.
summer_jackel: (Default)
I would give you the poem that came to me
before my eyelids opened this morning.
it was three perfect, elegant lines.
Of course I'd forgotten them by the time I finally woke up.

Instead, there are
two mallard hens upended in a streamside ditch,
orange-webbed and quacking excitedly.


summer_jackel: (Default)

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