A tiny survivor entered my life today.
During my daily Gratitude Walk this morning, I spotted a family of ducks: four ducklings and a mom.
One little duck was being ferried around by his mates, his legs limply hanging and his body slightly submerged.
I admired them for a while and moved along.
Not long afterward, the little family caught up to me and hopped up onto the shore. The mother faced the water, calling and calling.
They were one duckling short.
Returning to the original site, I found the injured sibling. Struggling, lopsided in the water, one little mini wing flapping.
And sinking fast.
A passerby declined my request to phone for wildlife help so I stood at the waters edge and hoped the little duck would float into reach.
He did. I scooped him up and carried him home.
(Not the passerby. The duck.)
Our Wild Bird Care Centre helped me make him comfortable while I ran to radiation. He was flopped over to one side, his eyes closed and I didn’t like to leave him.
I hoped the whole way there and back that he’d be alive and revived when I returned.
I found him sitting in his water dish, eyes open and alert.
Patiently waiting for his drive to the Wild Bird Care Centre.
Sweet little Duck.