AAAUUUGGGHHh

HOLY FUCKING SHIT THAT LUNA MOTH IS BACK OH MY GOD. I SWEAR I JUST SAW IT FLAILING AGAINST THE WINDOW THEN IT WAS GONE OH GOD OH GOD.

Nyeeeeeehhhhhhhhh!

ETA: Okay, so I thought maybe I had just imagined things. I only saw it out of the corner of my eye, after all. But today, we were cleaning out the little duck house, and Ethan had to go up and get the broom. He comes back with it and says, "Looks like we have a cling-on." THE MOTH IS ON THE BROOM. And you want to know the best part? It's not the same moth. It's a different fucking luna moth. THERE ARE MULTIPLE LUNA MOTHS OUT THERE.

Said moth is now clinging to the screened window of the little duck house. WTF.

Duckling Update

Tink and Horatio grew too big for the pen downstairs, so they've been moved out to the little duck house (formerly MamaCayuga's infirmary). MamaCayuga was deemed healthy enough to move out with the rest of the big ducks, so we gave her eye one last treatment, then sent her on her way. She stood in a clump with her old pals, all of them quacking uproariously. I assume they were filling one another in on what had been going on lately. ("They kept me alone in this little barn and three times a day they smeared this stuff on my eye!" "There was a toad but it was too big to eat so we just chewed on it until it died!")

The three younger ones, Guenevere, Rosencrantz, and Guildenstern (R&G are the youngest two--you can tell them apart quite easily, because Rosencrantz has a lighter beak and lighter feet and is slightly smaller, whereas Guildenstern is slightly larger, has a dark beak and dark feet, and is somehow perpetually wet), were moved from their recycling bin to the downstairs enclosure. They love having the extra space, and have been sprinting around in little circles all evening.

Tink and Horatio, however, are getting lonely out in the duck house by themselves. So I took a book and sat in their pen and read for a bit, since the shavings were clean and it's their first night and all. They spent some time trying to extract nourishment from my clothes, then they fought over who got the coveted sleeping place between my feet. I can now say definitively that happiness is reading a stupid Crichton-esque book by the light of a heat lamp, with one fat, fuzzy duckling between your flip-flop-clad feet and another fat, fuzzy duckling on one of your flip-flop-clad feet.