I'm about to put on a coat and boots to go out and check for eggs. I want to make Mia some breakfast, maybe more Swedish pancakes. I still have some more local maple syrup, and Laurie Marks gave me another bottle for Christmas in school. You just-don't-buy-the-fake-stuff when you live in upstate New York, syrup capital of the nation. The ducks seem to be acclimated to their pen, and lay eggs in the pans provided. I feel a pang of guilt when the recent warm weather brings the earth worms up out of their holes on the hillside - a favorite treat of my ducks. I give them cracked corn, egg layer feed and green hay to eat, but I know that's not nearly as much fun as the wiggly, squishy, juicy fellows in the ground. I'm not sure how many males vs. females I have or I would toss the boys out to go fend for themselves and leave the girls in the pen to spoil. Wish I could tell the difference. So far there have been no eyes gouged out or real feathers pulled. We'll see how it goes. Now to go get those big, beautiful eggs.
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