I have learned more about the procreative habits of ducks this year than in the entire collection of my prior voyages around the sun. There was the mama duck that managed to hide in a really fairly small patch of grass behind the air conditioner, defending her nest against all monsters and repairmen. There were some ducks in Broad Ripple who fancied themselves veritable Don Juans of Duckdom, and who importuned one particular female duck repeatedly while a group of us drank tea and commented. And now there is my own personal duckie.
Yes indeed, gentle readers, the ducklings staged their appearance. (Ok, six of them did; five eggs did not hatch and remain in the nest.) Five of them actually hatched in the presence of Mama Duck, who evidently then gave up on the others and led her little brood to the pond. One, however, hatched late. I have since learned that isn’t unusual. I was out gardening when something suddenly began peeping loudly at my feet. I looked down. There, coming out from under my deck, was a tiny solitary ball of brown fluff with a bill, webbed feet, and a very big voice. I called Joseph over to look. He has now seen, petted, and fed a real live duckling, still with a bit of egg yolk on its feathers. That peep is an alarm call, meant to summon Mother. I am here to tell you that it is effective across species lines; I could not leave that little creature alone. It quit peeping so loudly as soon as I scooped it up in my hand, and shifted to a very soft sound I really can’t describe well. I investigated the yard, finding no sign of the maternal duck or the remainer of the brood. So I collected Joseph and set off toward the pond I thought she’d come from.
I found her and her babies, but they would have nothing to do with my little one. When I put it down, they tried to peck it. I was later told they’d peck it to death, and indeed Joseph figured out very quickly that was what they had in mind and told my so in absolute horror. I, on the other hand, figured out that the duck had imprinted on me at its response to the assault. It ran between my ankles. So ok, I am now surrogate mother to a duck. I don’t know what temperature they need to be kept at; I don’t know what they eat. I know they can swim, but not whether they need to. Talk about clueless!
Ah, but I have a friend who is a licensed wild bird rehabber. Trouble was, she wasn’t home. I put it in a 2 quart measuring cup with water, but it peeped its distress and tried to climb out. Ok, I went back to carrying it. Then I thought. I’m not quick enough to catch bugs two handed, let alone when carrying a duckling. But wait; when we go feed the ducks, we toss out offerings of bread. Ok, I got out some wheat bread. Duck seemed to have a little trouble with it, so I moistened it with a bit of water, tore it into tiny pieces to fit a tiny beak, and offered them on the tips of my fingers. That worked; the little thing actually ate the equivalent of about half a slice of bread that way. But still, what to do with a wild duckling? I was terrified that I would do something wrong, or fail to meet some need, and that my 6 year old would learn abruptly about mortality.
So, with plans in place to work on the case that has a hearing tomorrow, I instead drove across town to the Eagle Creek Nature Center. Sarah held the duck, except when it chose to ride on a hand towel in my purse. Joseph watched it in enchantment the whole way. And in due time, we walked into the Nature Center to be greeted by a sweet lady who was not even vaguely surprised that we had brought her a duckling. She also had a baby robin and two “mystery birds”. It was interesting to see how much more developed the duckling was. And Joseph got to feed the wide-open baby bird mouths, and watch them squirm around.
All in all it was a grand adventure. The duckling is safe and going to a professional waterfowl rehabber where it will be with other orphaned ducks. Evidently being alone will kill a duckling all by itself. My friend who does rehab called me about 10:00 last night, having just gotten Sarah’s frantic e-mail. She told me we did everything exactly right, which is a relief. But you know, I think I’m just as glad the other five eggs show no signs of life. I’m really not ready to be surrogate mother to ducks. The human fledglings are quite challenging enough.
Talk about fledglings!
Good luck with the Solstice Lithagation….