Mrs Down's Diary

IT is that time of year when we are rearing ducks. A lot of them. They arrived as day olds just over a week ago and since then, as soon as we step out of our back door, our ears are filled with the sound of a quiet, persistent humming. Rather like the buzz you hear near an active hive. But magnified.

The ducklings are housed in an equivalent of the Duck Hilton. There are four pens, heaters, fresh straw twice a day, water water everywhere for them to splash in and drink and big straw bales in front of the whole caboodle so that they are not subject to any rain , wind or draughts.

Plus everything is netted over to prevent hawks swooping in for a tasty take away snack.

They have been giving John grief. When the ducklings were delivered, the lorry had already dropped off several thousand ducklings to other farms in the area. We were the last drop. The driver assured me that the ducks had been kept warm at a constant 22C and were fine. Sadly one or two had already perished and to be truthful, we expected to lose several more over the next few days as ducklings can get what is called starve out.

This is where the ducklings have failed to learn how to peck at their grub and eat, and just relied on the nourishment they have retained from the egg sac. If they are not eating by the third day, you lose them.

For full feature, see West Sussex Gazette May 27