Rj's Farm

By Kim Galvin

When RJ's owner dies, he 'inherits' the family farm: the first duck ever to do so! Surprising himself how much it quickly means to him, he sets out to run it properly. (With numerous mishaps along the way!) But what happens when his dreams collide with that of a family's, who aim to purchase the property?
Explore the fun, the humour, the sense of inner strength found through adventure, that is 'RJ's Farm'.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Oct 10, 2000
• ISBN: 9781469783673

Kim Galvin

A writer and homeschooling teacher, Kim Galvin has published articles in a wide variety of newspapers and magazines. Kim lives on a farm in New South Wales, Australia, with her husband, Bernie, and 4 children.

Book preview

1

The Duck Son.

Ronald did his last rounds for the night, ending up leaning on the fencepost outside the ducks’ pen as he gazed at his charges.

Well, fellows, what do you think of everything? Reckon it’s going to rain? Maybe I should get that hay in early.

A big solid duck named RJ paused in the midst of the rugby scrum for the food. He eyed the sky, then stood with his head cocked on one side, studying the old man as he listened to him.

See, if I get it in early, it’ll be too green and peo-ple’ll say I jumped the gun. ‘Specially if it doesn’t rain for weeks. But leave it—and get it soaked—and the bank manager’s the only man who wants to talk to you without laughing. Ahhhh… he waved his hand in the air in dismissal.

I worry too much. It’s a nice night. A fine night for sleeping. I feel awful tired tonight. Might go and sit by the fire for a while. That alright with you RJ?

RJ nodded his head from side to side and let out a dismissive quack. He looked anxiously sideways at the food container. It seemed to be getting dangerously low while the old man was talking to him. But then, as the old man’s only living relative, it seemed only civil to hold up your end of the conversation.

He nodded his head and quacked soothingly a couple of times, chirrucking under his breath in a burbling sort of manner. It was going to be all right, said that quack. Just sit by the fire for a while and let the woes of the world slip away from you.

And in the end that’s what the old man did.

Nice talking to you RJ! he waved his hand, and ambled off, clutching the feed bucket in his claw. Seeya in the morning. Try to get some sleep now.

RJ watched him leave, vaguely uneasy in himself. He shrugged it off, and returned to the feed container, beside his relatives, jostling Hilary and Jocelyn out of the way as he did so. Big, hardy matrons, they resented his manner.

Hey ! Watch it! We were here first!

Then I’m lucky there’s any left then RJ flung back rudely.

Jocelyn and Hilary were left with open bills. Well!!! Of all the rudeness! Jocelyn began, but Hilary stopped her. Forget it, she said with a shrug of her wings, He’s not worth it. Give a duck a namesake and he’ll go half the distance.

They waddled over to the side corner, out of the melee.

What did you mean by namesake? Jocelyn asked curiously. She was a newer duck and wasn’t up on all the pen gossip.

It’s just that, Hilary shrugged, RJ was named after our owner—Ronald Junior—RJ—and he puts on airs and graces because of it. Fancies himself as the heir to the place or some such thing! Hilary snorted a laugh.

But why?

Why what? Why RJ?

Jocelyn nodded.

Well , our esteemed owner seemed to think that they both ate alike. To put it mildly— Hilary burst into wild frenetic laughter—They both ate like a pig!!! In the words ofhis mother or some such thing!!

They laughed wildly together, rocking their feathers and their big, padded bodies back and forth.

Across the pen, RJ lifted his head and eyed them. He knew they were laughing at him, but he didn’t really care. He was proud of being a namesake no matter how he got it. Still, he gave them a ducky glare for form. They caught it and flushed with laughter once more, roaring and rolling, and clutching at one another.

RJ shook his head in disgust. Hens! They were always going to be flighty! You could take the flight out of the hen, but you couldn’t take the flightiness out of them. Ronald and he had similar views on these matters. That’s one of the many things he’d always liked so much about the old man. They thought alike. In many ways, he felt as if he WAS the old man’s son: he knew as much about the farm as he did. They always made all the big decisions together. Ronald said it helped him to have someone to talk over the options with. And RJ was a good listener. It was his nature to want to know how everything worked, and why.

Inside the house, Ronald shifted uneasily by the fire. He couldn’t seem to get comfortable tonight. It was either too hot, or too cold, wherever he sat. He stretched out his legs, folded them, unfolded them again.

The house was an old rambling homestead of the verandahed variety. It had long since stopped trying to look grand, but it was cosy and comfortable, in the way that a shabby old bathrobe was. It wrapped itself around you, and you felt like you had lived there for a thousand years. Well, Ronald had. For ninety years at least. He had been born there, raised with a big noisy family, Like a bunch of ducks he always said. Went away to war, came back limping and lonely, stayed and inherited the farm, and fell in love with ducks.

They were his passion. It was more than a hobby, it was a COMMON interest. Anway, they were his family now. He had no close relatives. Everyone else had dropped off in life’s race.

He sighed. Funny how tired he felt tonight. He shuffled nearer the fire again. Seemed to be getting colder in his bones. He closed his eyes and fell asleep. Forever.

And outside in their fox-proof pen, the ducks slept.

And in the morning they awoke to find they had inherited a farm.

Sort of.

2

The Great Escape.

Rj was the first to realise something was wrong. Big Bill and Barney were waiting at the gate, and Ronald hadn’t appeared. You could set your watch by those guys’ stomachs, Ronald had always said, and he’d always been there to greet them before.

Midmorning arrived and STILL Ronald hadn’t appeared. RJ felt a sick feeling in the bottom of his stomach. Ronald had never let them down before. He was scrupulous about feeding his animals, often before himself. RJ had often offered the old man a bit of lettuce when he thought the old man looked a bit stringy, but he had always laughed and patted it off. As far as RJ could remember, Ronald had always been there on time. He thought back to how tired the old man had been last night. Clearly something was wrong.

The other ducks were all complaining about their stomachs, but RJ was planning to help. Clearly escape first, but how?

He stood in the centre of the pen, slowly turning around as he examined it from all angles. Solid enough. Very solid in fact. Triple thickness mesh, corrogated iron on the base, and rocked around the edges. Fox-proof. Ronald wasn’t going to let any foxes get any of his charges. No way through. Up then. RJ stared at the sky. It was a bit cloudy like Ronald had thought. A sub-thought about the hay formed in the back of his mind, but he pushed it away. Details later. Escape first.

He studied the other ducks, who were pushing and complaining, and making an awful row. Looked at the wall again. It was about 3 ducks high. 3 ducks high! An idea formed.

Barney! Come here please he said casually. Barney was the fattest duck.

What do you want? Do you know I haven’t been fed yet? Barney wandered over belligerently. None of the pen of 30 ducks had been fed, but Barney thought in singular, rather than plural.

Could you stand there for a moment please? RJ asked casually, indicating a spot near the side wall.

Why? Did you know I haven’t been fed yet?

Yes, I did notice. RJ made an effort to keep his voice nice, when all he wanted to do was quack his loudest QUACK!!! in a loud and offensive manner in Barney’s ear. He gritted his bill and oiled his voice.

Could you please stand there and I will attempt to climb up you.

WHY? Barney asked suspiciously. He didn’t fancy RJ on his back. RJ was no lightweight either. Did you know I haven’t—?

RJ lost his temper. Yes I did know you haven’t been fed!!! He quacked loudly at Barney. None of us have, you selfish git. Get that, NONE of us!!! And, unless we all work together, maybe none of us will. Get that through your thick head!

Barney was takenaback. There’s no need to be rude, he said indignantly. I was just trying to tell you—

I know, I know, you haven’t been fed yet. RJ had this urge to put his head under his wing and weep. None of us have he said softly and sadly. And maybe none of us will unless we find a way to work together—instead of each thinking of our own stomachs!

Well, I like that! Barney said indignantly. Who’s first at the feed bowl most days I’d like to know?

RJ just shook his head and hung it down to the ground. It was never going to work, duck co-operation. And then Bertha pushed her way through the crowd of onlookers.

What’s this all about RJ?, she asked briskly. Where’s the old man? You know him better than any of us do. Did he say he was going to be away today?

Away?

When’s he coming back? the cacophony of questions broke in.

Soon, I hope. I want my breakfast. That, inevitably, was Barney.

Big Bill shouldered in too. He and Bertha were mates. RJ felt hope swelling in his chest. Bertha and Big Bill were reliable, trustworthy ducks. If they said they’d help him, they would. Maybe this would be alright after all. It was just a matter of convincing them.

I think something may have happened to him, he said simply. I don’t think he’s coming. Ever.

There was an intake of ducky breath. Never? What about us? came the general wail. We’ll starve to death! Barney foghorned over the rest.

RJ suppressed a smile. Barney had enough body fat to live off for a week. Or two. Maybe a month.

Yes, maybe we will, he said ruthlessly. No use trying to soothe them, he’d never get any help that way. But our first priority is getting out of here and getting some water—and checking on the old man.

Checking on the old man when he left us here like this? No way! Rodreek, an Indian Runner duck with an attitude, butted in. Our first duty is to ourselves, not to anyone else. Let the old man rot!

Shame on you! Bertha wheeled around and administered a hearty peck to Rodreek. You know that dear kind old man has come out to us no matter what the weather. Why, when I think of the hot mashes he used to bring out on cold days, I could… her voice broke up and she wept behind her wing. Big Bill, her mate, put his wing awkwardly around her. He tried to comfort her by patting it absently on her back. They all felt uncomfortable. This was out of character for Bertha. But she was, to be fair, in the midst of sitting on a clutch of eggs, and they all knew what that did to the female temperament. Everyone got maternalised, taken under her wing to be wept over and worried about, so to speak.

Big Bill cleared his throat, while Bertha blew her bill on her wing, and sniffed away the last few tears. Back to business he said briskly.

The old man’s pot time has clearly come and we’re on our own until they bring in new stock to take over the place. What do you think RJ?

RJ nodded. That sums it up pretty well Bill, he said.

But won’t someone come? Dorothy asked quaver-ingly. She was a pretty little Pekin, not