We were just getting ready to go to McDonald's Thursday morning, when I heard a funny chirping outside. I looked out our sliding glass door to see this:
A baby duck. At first, Don and I didn't know whether it was a duck or a goose, but we decided it was a duck. But in our backyard? He looked in the door, Babs went crazy, he chirped and headed for the grass. Since Don needed to get to work, so we left, thinking the duck's mother would find it.
When we came home, we saw the poor little thing walking up the driveway a few houses away. He made good time in the ten minutes we were gone. Still thinking the mother must be around, we opted to leave him there, though we knew his days were numbered.
It didn't occur to me until an hour later, that he probably didn't have a mother. It is too early for ducklings to have hatched and I suspect he was somebody's Easter duck. I don't know whose he might have been, but had I been thinking, I would have put him in Babs' dog kennel and taken him to the Humane Society. But by then, I had no idea where he was. I can't help but think things did not end well, however. Which explains my heartache.
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