All the locals smiled sardonically and one said “Welcome to crofting.”

We were at the fank, having just brought in the sheep for sheering, and
I received the news that a dog -- owned by the new tenant of the croft
adjacent ours -- had killed our last surviving female Indian Runner
Duck.

This fellow although not exactly apologising, he did offer to give us ducks of completely different
breed. As the conversation progressed, he then suggested that his dog
would, in fact, kill more of our domestic poultry if it wandered on to
his croft.

Charming, eh?

It was our responsibility for keeping the poultry “properly” penned, he
said. Our peaceable hens wander quite contently around the cottage
here. It is one of the reasons why I believe their eggs sell-out daily.

But this gentleman, Mr Nice New Neighbour : ) , has decided that the
open space in front of the cottage we rent is also part of his croft.
He has torn down a bit of the robust livestock fencing forming the
actual boundary of his croft.

Makes it rather difficult for us (or anyone) to keep animals off his
land. (I use that pronoun advisedly: all of us are just tenants.)

As the dog is used for hunting and he knew perfectly well that
our birds roam truly free range, one can only assume that he was
anticipating this incident.

As we used to say, “Where’s a cop when you need one?’


Dead Duck