The Duck Liberation Movement

On July 8th the Pip-squeak and I rescued a tiny duckling in the middle of the road. At the "farm" store we were told it wasn't going to make it. I bought the food and heat lamp anyway, but prepared the kids for the worst. Well, the worst didn't happen and we ended up with a sweet little cheeping duckling as a house mate. She lived in a rubbermaid tote, and the kids called her Dodger Danger Duck.

The next week our duckling looked like this.

By two weeks old we realized ducklings know how to do three things; eat, poop, and grow. Not quite the cute little pet I had envisioned, and quickly stinking up the dining room in which she resided Jon built her a quaint little cottage, a.k.a. "the duck hutch" in the back yard.




By three weeks of age Dodger the duck had started the transformation process. Notice the scraggly looking feathers on it's back. His little webbed feet weren't so little anymore and the Little Guy was surprised that she had claws that were a little too scratchy for playtime. A happy coincidence though, this duck loves grasshoppers, and since I hate them we got along just fine. It's always a pleasure to watch your worst nightmare get snatched up into the jaws of death!

One month since the most daring rescue in our families history and we ended up with this. A duck that was just a little too scary to hold on to without a parent's help.

(On a side note, I swear my kids don't wear pajamas all day. Picture time always happened right before bed when I would think to myself, "Shoot! I keep forgetting to take a picture of that darn duck!")

Week five and we have ourselves an almost full-blown duck. A tiny bit of fuzz by her wings let us know she was still too little to fly. Jon was counting down the days. Out side now she wasn't quite as smelly, but she ate like a HORSE! And if the water wasn't changed every day we had a very unpleasant aroma not too unlike the stagnant, bug infested bog of eternal stench. 

  

                                      The last and final scene in our epic journey in animal rescue.

 Yes, I got Jon to hold the duck. (Notice the gloves.) He was only too glad to pick it up and place it in the same rubbermaid tote that had once been it's home. This time, though, she barely fit. Lucky for her, and for us, we have a wonderful lakeside park only two blocks away from our house. Into the back of the pickup went the duck and the two kids, and off we went to Eagle Park.

 Trying to teach a duck to fly is a little like trying to teach me ride a skateboard...so we gave up quickly. The kids followed her around for a little while and then Jon caught her up again and walked down through the reeds to the marshy edge of the lake. He came back to this.

Good-bye Dodger Danger Duck. The Pip-squeak will miss you; the Little Guy will remember you; and Jon will try his hardest to wash your stink out of his hands. As for me, I'm surprisingly glad that I comically jumped out of the car and postponed your demise. Please fly south before Duck Hunting Season, or else I'll be really ticked!