From the initial 7 Muscovy ducks that I was given a couple of years back, we still have 6  – we lost two and kept 1 duckling, if that makes sense.

I am very fond of my ducky-wuckies. They are communicative in a non-quacking way and are very definite about what they want – mostly food, please!

And Penthesilea (the only one with a name apart from Mr Ducky, Black Ducky and Mother Ducky, though I am not 100% sure which one she is now), is still very keen on guddling in the mud.

She is a girl on a mission – I am trying very hard not to be too depressed about this as we have mud everywhere.

The ducks get around the croft quite far and fly past like Lancaster bombers. I don’t clip their wings.

They know where home is and I think it gives them a sporting chance against any predators during the day, though they go to bed at night in a totally closed hen-house.

They are no trouble and fascinating to watch.

Maybe there will be some ducklings this year.  I would quite like that.  Quite.

I drove down the track at Leradale this morning to see two grey (white) ponies standing next to each other and I asked myself the question “which is Fivla and which is Silver?” They looked identical and for a second I could not tell.

(this is Silver)

And I gave the bucket (I think) to Fivla.

Silver was keen to have it, even though he had managed to get himself on the wrong side of the fence while still being in the field (there is a sheep gathering place there).

Anyway Fivla definitely was not sharing.

So Silver worked his magic on me instead – yes, I had a few carrots about my person.

It is funny to think that Silver was originally a totally different colour when he first arrived and I was assured by his breeder that he would go white.  He has.

One day, I will give Fivla’s bucket to Silver.  I know this and, only when I have made this mistake, will Fivla tell me!

(btw, this is Silver!↓↓↓↓)

A few posh portraits I took the other day when it wasn’t raining or a gale.

I think Haakon is looking lovely for his age (29 this year). Just the same as ever.

I know that face so well. We’ve been together for 26 years now – like an old married couple.

Klængur- that’s his sleepy face. He’d just woken up.  He was very woozy.

Ditto Iacs.

And Kolka is beginning to fill out, looking more and more beautiful.

She is one very determined lady who knows her mind.  You can see that in her eyes.

I have told her that I am giving up her supper bucket now. We will see who breaks first!

“As members of a herd, they’re able to relax because one horse acts as a sentinel, standing guard while the rest snooze.” – Practical Horseman

Or, if you’re Kolka, you sort of keep guard while eating, because it is all a matter of priorities.

And she did her very best, honest, and I feel sure that if a leopard or whatever crept up to eat the others, Kolka would’ve given her everything to protect everyone….. sort of (ooh, look, a nice blade of grass!)

The weather has been exhausting so it was lovely to see the old men snoozing.  You can almost hear the farts and the snoring (and with Iacs, there would definitely be farts – he is legendary).

I am not very good at creeping up, and so when Haakon noticed me then that was it. He was up.  I might have chocolate cake about my person. I didn’t.

Meanwhile, Iacs went on Zzzz……ing.

…. and, once awake, he was pulling silly faces yawning.

That’s better. Now they all look like a sensible herd of horses.  Well done Kolka.  She has the old men sorted.  I hope they stand guard for her.

I am wrong, and I don’t admit to that lightly. Apparently the original three Minions – Waffle, Silver and Storm – have only be with me for nine years.

It will be ten next year according to my dear friend, who felt the need to correct me (there is always one and she knows who she is, not that I hold a grudge but the usual “fusion soup” on Saturday will be interesting, that’s all I’m going to say!)

Anywho, nine years ago, the day after Up Helly Aa (the last Wednesday of the month), I went along to help the SSPCA move many Shetland ponies that needed to be rehomed and relocated urgently.

So, here we are nine years on and, doing the maths, next year it will be ten years. This gives me more time for planning.  I think we should have a cake, a party, maybe with hats and probably a lot of gin.  Perhaps my friend, who corrected me, could make the cake – chocolate, please!

🎂 🎉 🎁 🍾 🍸

Nine or ten, it feels longer and at least someone reads the blog!