Late one Saturday night my husband showed me we had two ducks sleeping on our front lawn. We live in downtown Morristown and are nowhere near a body of water, so I was amazed to watch them.
I guess we disturbed them, as they got up and waddled across the street, then for some reason decided to waddle back. I watched in horror as a car came over the hill and struck them both. I grabbed a box and some towels and went to the rescue.
One was instantly killed and the other lay struggling in the middle of the street. I quickly removed them to our screened back porch for triage. There wasn’t much I could do at first, so I wrapped the deceased duck for removal and put the live duck in a covered box.
I was relieved to find it alive on Sunday morning. She had an injured wing, a bloody eye, and what looked like a broken foot.
Kevin built a screen to put between the duck and the straw and I got some feed and electrolytes for ducks to put in her water to help with hydration.
I also googled “how to wrap a duck’s broken wing and leg” and “how to clean a duck’s eye.”
Am I crazy?
I thought so, but my heart ached for God’s creation, and I couldn’t just let nature take its course. I checked for rescue agencies, but they are few and far away.
So for now, I am a fowl doctor to “Mallory,” a name my son gave to the duck.
No. I’m not keeping her. She is improving a lot and I plan to release her in a week or two. I have found a farm to take her, and hope she’ll be content there or move on when she’s ready.