How I Taught “Anglo-American Farmer” & Local (Hell, Christ, REGIONAL!) Bullshitter Wook To Successfully Raise Nice Fat Slick Eating Ducks
by Emmett Smith
(Someone in the UK warned Farmer Wook in his computer of the “fact” that most Mexicans want to be Americans. This is a crock of shit, the Mexicans do not want our thin beer and doughy blondes, they just want the nice parts and besides are probably more “American” than us from the Indian viewpoint anyway. So I answered for Wook who was so depressed by what he’d wrote up yesterday about low farm morale around here that he was out tearing up the ground with a field cultivator and didn’t want to talk to anybody — ERS)
That’s fine about “the Mexicans,” yo hablo and all that, just keep ‘em off of Old Farmer Wook’s duck flock or the fur (feathers?) will fly and the shit WILL hit the fan….
The way to get ducks to set successfully around here is on 1 May go around the yard and bust up all the nests, bury any eggs laid before I mean, and if necessary prop up the odd slab of plywood for shade along the shed or barn foundation where the old ducks have already decided to nest. The ducks by now are in the full reek of reproductive copulation (how fancy is that line?), the eggs laid now in their old spots (leave the straw I mean, just clean out the stale eggs) are all fertile (unless you forget what you are after and eat the drake for Easter!), and the moms’ll all bring in a nice setting of five to eight babies each, all in a go. Meanwhile (now!) set up the run so you can catch The Little Bastards on those first June mornings and pop ‘em behind the wire, before Sammy Skunk & Timmy Fox get ‘em. In fact you have to about have an Airedale (Bette) or Border Collie-Blue Heeler mix (Lady) to make this work and keep off the varmints during the setting. But, it sure as Hell beats playing ’silly bastards’ like they say in England and F-ck All (like we say here!) with incubators. I taught these tricks to Bodwyn Wook and saved him from pissing away 300 dollars on an incubator back in ‘81. Gratitude? Like Hell. The other thing is you don’t have to set eggs under banty hens, who’ll never EVER let you round up the ducklings they’ve hatched! But it also beats eating those scrawny marsh ducks in the Fall all smelling like fish shit and stringy and tough, plus full of shot — MY ducks — and Wook’s too now — get fed shell corn every day of their little, fat, Lutheran, waddling pre-diabetic lives!
By August already they look like a flock of Norwich puddlejumper farmers at a Punch Horse fair over there in England!
[Emmett R Smith all rights reserved 18 May 2009]