**Update: I found out it was a goose instead of a duck**
I was out hanging laundry, feeling proud of myself for getting three loads done today, when someone pulled up. As I walk over to see what they wanted, a lady got out of the truck cradling an inverted hard hat.
“We were visiting B & C, and they said you might know what do with this. It’s injured. We found it wandering around.”
I looked in the hard hat and saw a duck with a slice in its head.
I could sense their hopefulness that I would take the injured duck off their hands.
Meanwhile, I’m thinking, “Oh boy, what do I do with an injured duck”. I’ve never had a duck before. B & C are an older couple who live three houses down. Lee and I are the only ones on our street that have chickens. Almost everyone else is retired, with manicured yards straight out of a fertilizer ad. Definitely not the sort of houses that accept stray waterfowl. To make matters worse, I know this is a wild duck because B & C live on the river side of the street.
“Sure,” I say as I picked up the soft squishy duck body. It cuddles into my hand and doesn’t seem to realize there is a chunk missing out of it’s head. They thank me profusely and make their escape before I can change my mind–their guilt assuaged and their good deed done for the day.
I walk into the house holding the duck.
“Um, Lee, we have a duck. Or half a duck, rather.” I tell him the story I was told and he starts muttering about “darn suburbanites” and they “should have just let nature take its course” … and “where in the world are we going to put a duck.” He goes out looking for a cardboard box to put the poor fuzzy ball in while still muttering. The thing is, when someone brings you an injured animal you can’t say no without looking like a heartless sod. And when it’s a baby that darn nurturing instinct takes over. Lee sends me off to the farm store for some duck feed, a heat lamp, and some wood shavings.
Yeah, so just call us Farm Folly: Home For Invalid Animals.
So what in the world do you do with a wild duck? I was thinking about calling it Lucky if it survives. Or Unlucky if it doesn’t. ‘Brain Damage Duck’ is a bit of a mouthful, but B.D.D. or Bud for short could work. Hmm … Halfwit?
Even with half a head, the silly little duck is sooooo cute. I’ve spent about 30 minutes holding it, and it’s very sweet and cuddly. Why are we raising chickens?