Last this blog saw Gilligan, the white duck, he was sitting in a row boat, hiding from the other ducks. He's come out of the boat, probably because it's remarkably hard for a duck to find food in a boat, and is disconsolately roaming the yard by himself. My husband is feeding him corn when he can get to him. The other ducks come by occasionally, and apparently make snide remarks, but at least they've stopped attacking him for now. He won't go in the pond any more. This is a family blog so I'll refrain from explaining what they've done to him when they've found him in the pond. Let's just say that duck gang activity bears a striking resemblance to what movies say about prison gang activity and leave it at that.
So there I was, sitting in my beautiful home in the suburbs, minding my own business, when my husband says, "The mortgage rates are coming down. Why don't we look around?"
Two months later, we had moved into a 6.5-acre farmette in the country, with two horses, three goats, three ducks, and two cats.
Now what do we do? Warning...major learning curve ahead....