Well, last Monday when the eggs were pipping, we had a poor hatch.  Out of fourteen or so eggs, only two hatched.  Now, that said, the two dear little chickie-poos that hatched are very sweet.  One is golden with black smudges, the other is quite black.  At this point in time, they are being reared much in the manner that mammals ought to be.  Because they are being reared by mammal-boys who and tender and loving.

After phoning our resident chicken expert lady, who is not only an expert, but actually obsessed with poultry, we felt a little better about our poor hatch.  She said sometimes young roosters are still trying to get the hang of it.  The boys thought this very funny. Tee hee, tee hee. They know, beyond the shadow of a doubt that their rooster has the hang of it.  Clearly there is some other explanation for all these dud eggs.

Like the hens don't have the hang of it.  Huh.

So, a mere one week later, ducklings are due to hatch.  Not feeling very hopeful about this, because of the poor chick hatch, and wondering if the drake was having the appearance of having the hang of it but actually not having the hang of it, I thought perhaps I should prepare the chicken boys for The Worst.  So I have been talking about the distinct possibility of life without ducklings this week.  And about how we could have more ducklings a mere month from now, about how they already have a lot of poultry to look after, about the Wyandotte chicks that will be coming only a couple of weeks from now.  That Easter is coming and that is something to look forward to.

Anything to soften the blow of no duckies.  And then, when all was quiet, I went to check the incubator and low and behold. Pipping.  Little ducks are busy planning their escape and entrance into the big wide world of the Hovo-Bator.  Will send photos.