I was walking through the yard a few minutes ago and realized (gasp) that some people might not consider walking up the yard, calling, talking to and whistling at a group of chicks, poults and a duckling particularly normal. Four BBS Rocks, a PR, seven poults and a crested duckling, who are all around a week of age were following along with various degrees of success - the lawn REALLY needs mowing. And I reflected that my mother would not understand the entire process, nor the talking to them, nor the degree of worry and satisfaction as they all managed their first real long walk. Duckbutt has a tendency to plop down and focus on dandelions. Tina always lags behind, Marin and Trace and Tag are the poults that tend to range the furthest and freak me out. And Darby and Rolf keep running up to get under me. Little W my PR - he's George's son... soo... he's always nearby and hates getting stuck in high grasses. Darby doesn't want anything much to do with me at the brooder but once outside it's momma all the way. And very few people outside this group would understand that each is different, that they have names and personalities and that they ARE different from one another. That you can tell them apart if you spend... well wayyyyy too much time with them. I spent my childhood wishing I could be the character in my favorite movie of all time. And while I can't get them to speak English, when I have their trust and affection and they come when they're called, and run to me if they're frightened and call to me when they're stuck. I figure I've gotten about as close as a human can get. I might not be Doolittle but I think he'd approve. They didn't think he was normal either.