Be a Duck!

Be a Duck!

There should be thirteen, I thought—four geese and nine ducks. One, two, three…and I’d have to start counting all over again. Counting ducks isn’t easy. Unless they’re walking in a row, they’re impossible to keep track of. They keep moving around, and worse, some of them look alike.

Finally, I confirmed I was one duck short.

As I fed the ever-moving, always yakking flock, I mentally ran through their names. Before I could finish, Brownie, a slim chocolate-colored runner duck, came limping up from the creek.

The geese (or The Ladies, as I refer to them) recognized something was wrong and started pecking her—bullying her. This is typical goose behavior: Get them while they’re down, or maybe get rid of them so they don’t slow us down.

I swooped in, saying, “No, no, no, we don’t bully here!” I picked Brownie up and carried her out of the pen, my brain spinning.

It was late, and the flock were coming in to eat and go to bed. I couldn’t put Brownie in the Duck Hall, or The Ladies would harass her all night. And I couldn’t examine her for injuries without another set of hands to hold her.

The rest of the flock finished eating and shoved their way up the ramp, through the little door, where I locked them in for safety. Brownie limped and squawked up the ramp, trying to follow them, but I feared The Ladies would be merciless to her. It was a risk I wasn’t willing to take.

I sat outside with her until darkness came, then whispered, “Good night, girl—in the morning you’ll see your friends.” I felt miserable leaving her out alone, but at least she was secure in the pen.

In the morning, I rushed out to see Brownie. She was fine but still not able to walk well. I opened the little door, and the other ducks and geese came stomping and flying out, anxious to begin their day. Brownie sat up straighter, happy to see her duck friends! But as they waddled down to the creek, Brownie stayed still. Either her injury was worse, or she was afraid of The Ladies.

When Dane came over, I held Brownie while he checked her leg and feet, but there didn't appear to be anything broken. The best place for her to heal would be in the water with the other ducks. When I set her down, she half limped, half fell toward the water. Dane cautioned, “You won’t be able to get her in tonight.”

We watched her swim, seemingly effortlessly, up to the other ducks, and I sighed. I hoped she’d be able to get herself back up to the pen when the sun started going down.

But she wasn’t there when the flock came in. Quickly, I watered and fed the others, ushered them inside the Duck Hall, closed the door, and went looking for Brownie. I could hear her cries.

Imagine having all your children run in after a day of play, feeding them, putting them to bed, and discovering one child was still out. I felt hopeless as I called to her and tried to get her to swim toward shore. Dane was correct; there was no getting Brownie out of the creek. The vegetation line on both sides is at least five feet wide, making it impossible to see the many dips and ledges leading to the water. Surely I’d break my leg, leaving me as helpless as Brownie!

“Good night, sweetie,” I called. “You’ll be okay. I promise I’ll be down here at first light.”

I tossed and turned all night, and tried sending Brownie telepathic messages: “You’re okay. I’ll be back. Don’t worry. Try to sleep.”

In the morning, I rushed down in slippers and PJs to let the flock out. The geese started eating, and the ducks headed right for the creek. I knew Brownie was okay because she was calling out, “I’m here! I’m here!”

What joy to see the ducks glide into the water and Brownie swim toward them, her tiny head bobbing up and down. Everyone began yakking all at once, and I could imagine their conversation:

“Where were you? Are you okay?”

“It was awful. Mom made me stay out here alone all night.”

Watching Brownie swim with her flock felt good. Now, if only her leg would heal and the ducks would protect her from the geese.

Today, on day three of the Brownie saga, I’m reminded that, just like people, animals can be mean, but they can also band together to help each other. Brownie needs her flock right now. I’m hoping for a happy ending.

Moral of the story: Be a duck, not a goose.