A NEW RECRUIT

..And then there were four (ish)

 THE goose patrol has resumed its duties
and there's a new recruit as you can see from
this video to the right.
 The turkeys got a little too close for Jack's liking while the subversive sheep looked on rather bemused.
 We now need a name for this new addition but please bear in mind it's going to take some months before we establish the sex of the gosling.
 Please send your suggestions in the comment section - many thanks.

EVERY CLOUD

.. and hope still springs eternal

 THERE'S still an awful pall of gloom hanging in the air since the brutal demise of Swedish goose Queenie who steadfastly sat on a clutch of eggs through all weather in the hope of becoming a Mother Goose. Sadly, on the eve of them hatching, her plans were brought to an abrupt end by at least one badger.
 But there's little time to dwell on death in the countryside and yesterday I was given a timely reminder of the hope which springs eternal courtesy of a tiny little ball of yellowish fluff seen in the video.
 I'm not sure what name to give him/her - yes, I
know I shouldn't give my animals names or get too attached to them but I am an accidental farmer and didn't sign up for producing livestock without becoming emotionally involved.
 Farmers might seem a cold, detached  bunch but from some of the private messages I've received, following the death of Queenie, it seems there are a number of great big softies out there who genuinely share my pain.
 To lovingly raise livestock only to have them cut down in their prime by pests like badgers and foxes is extremely frustrating.
 However, now I have to focus on the living and Jack and Vera still have a few more eggs left to hatch though I'm not sure if they're duds. Interestingly enough, when they take junior out for a stroll Bluebell, another Swedish goose, sits on the remaining clutch.
 The whole Queenie episode has really distressed her because the incident probably reminded Bluebell about her own near-death experience caused by a group of wild mink several years back. Her then owner nursed her around the clock and miraculously she survived. Unable to mate and lay her own eggs she now seems to have assumed a matronly role and is more than happy to help out Jack and Vera.

A HELPING HAND

..Or a hindrance

 What a rollercoaster day it has been and the dramas are continuing well into the night.
 Vera, my beautiful Toulouse goose proudly showed off a newly-hatched gosling early this morning and by noon there was another yellow fluffy ball beginning to emerge from one of the remaining nine eggs. See the short video clip below.
 'Nature not nurture', I thought to myself as I walked away but an hour later one of the goslings was dead and another was lying exhausted only half way out of its shell. Vera was clearly distressed and my presence near her makeshift nest was only making matters worse so I retreated.
 In the meantime I went to check on the turkeys and their own egg-laying saga - one has stayed out eight nights on the run now keeping a lonely vigil on her nest away from prying eyes ... although a previous posting reveals its secrets. The other turkey who is nesting has been sitting on her eggs in a stable for nearly as long, but I must confess I've been nicking her eggs and saving them for the new incubator which arrived a few days ago.

And just to make sure she's not distressed by the theft I replaced each delivery with a fake, pot egg. My other half pointed out that now she is sitting on a clutch of pot eggs it's rather cruel to let the deception continue indefinitely. His observations have really pricked my conscience and so I've now started replacing the pot eggs with those laid by my Scots Dumpys. Yes, yes, I know - it seems I'm using a shovel to dig myself into a deeper hole than the one I've already made.
'O, what a tangled web we weave when we practice to deceive,' wrote Scottish poet Sir Walter Scott. I wonder if he kept birds?
 Anyway I daren't think of the deep psychological damage I'm going to do when the turkey hatches hens' eggs and looks at her tiny offspring for the first time. Nor am I sure how wee chooks will react by a massive, big mum who looks nothing like them.
 And I've no idea what's in store for me tomorrow when I check Vera or if the little chappie in the film above will still be alive.
 It seems if I remain hands off then disaster could strike if the little gosling loses his struggle to get out of his shell but if I meddle with Nature then I could make things worse.
 Once again the thorny dilemma of Nature v Nurture looms large.