On Father's Day this year one of the young men in our county went to visit his father. His Dad was the guy who used to deliver our propane so we knew him fairly well. The young man worked at the equity and was working with some other guys repairing the boom on a fertilizer spreader. The boom slipped and came around hitting the young man in the chest knocking him down. Being the tough guy all young men pretend to be, he got up and said he was fine. He complained a few days later that his ribs hurt, but refused to go to the doctor based on the fact that if a rib was broken, all they would do is tape it up anyway. Besides, it didn't hurt as much as it did before. Actually, by Father's Day he had almost forgotten about the accident.
He and his Dad were chatting when the young man excused himself to go to the bathroom. He was in there a long time and his Mom asked if everything was OK. He said he had an upset stomach and didn't feel too good but he'd be out in a minute. Then they heard a crash. When they finally got the bathroom door open, their son was lying on the floor not breathing. They started CPR and called the paramedics. Unfortunately, they pronounced him dead at the hospital. I always feel so sorry for parents who have children who die before Mom and Dad do because that just isn't the way things are supposed to happen. I vividly remember how hard it was on my Mom when my brother, Larry, died. She never completely recovered from that.
This young man had a pet duck named Daisy. The family didn't want to kill the duck, but no one had the time to care for it. Of course, the first place that comes to mind as a sanctuary for the duck is Prairie House. They asked if we would give the duck a home and said they would bring the duck's swimming pool too. So we inherited a nearly full grown white (Pekin) duck named Daisy who was actually a "Donald". We put him in with Bad Goose who was the only creature we had here who was a swimmer as we sold all the other geese. Bad Goose knew he was different, but seemed to welcome the company. The became inseparable.
Later in the summer we ordered some ducklings from a hatchery in a moment of insanity. They were shipped in 100+ degree weather and the mortality rate from shipping was high. We did manage to save 5 of them. One of the 5 apparently became a meal for something as it simply disappeared leaving us with 4 which happened to be matching pairs of two different breeds. Then another one disappeared. After that, the remaining 3 were moved to the pen with Bad Goose and his buddy, Daisy who welcomed them excitedly, inviting them into their pool and showing them where the food was. All the birds got along well. Bad Goose still knew he was different and definitely the leader, but Daisy taught them all the intricacies of being a duck.
They generally went into their house at night, but never until it was totally dark. We gave up on trying to put them away at the time that was convenient for us (when we put all the other creatures to bed) and left their door open so they could retire whenever they felt like it. This worked well for months. Wednesday night it didn't work out so well. 
Thursday morning there were bodies in the field. One body was completely missing, one had the head ripped off, one had a broken wing, and Daisy was brutally torn to bits. Bad Goose was covered in blood. Upon closer examination, the duck with the broken wing seemed to be a good candidate for rehab, and Bad Goose had no obvious wounds. I don't know what time the attack happened, what kind of predator it was or why I didn't hear the commotion. Undoubtedly Bad Goose was fighting to protect his flock, and did at least save the one hen, but his buddy Daisy is dead. He and the little hen stayed in their house all day Thursday. They did venture out a bit on Friday. She could walk OK and seemed to be recovering, but neither of them wanted to get into their pool. By Saturday Bad Goose had managed to clean himself up so he is white again instead of rusty colored.
The little hen doesn't have a name. We don't think she should be called Daisy. We would welcome some suggestions. Here is a picture of her all alone.
Thursday morning there were bodies in the field. One body was completely missing, one had the head ripped off, one had a broken wing, and Daisy was brutally torn to bits. Bad Goose was covered in blood. Upon closer examination, the duck with the broken wing seemed to be a good candidate for rehab, and Bad Goose had no obvious wounds. I don't know what time the attack happened, what kind of predator it was or why I didn't hear the commotion. Undoubtedly Bad Goose was fighting to protect his flock, and did at least save the one hen, but his buddy Daisy is dead. He and the little hen stayed in their house all day Thursday. They did venture out a bit on Friday. She could walk OK and seemed to be recovering, but neither of them wanted to get into their pool. By Saturday Bad Goose had managed to clean himself up so he is white again instead of rusty colored.
The little hen doesn't have a name. We don't think she should be called Daisy. We would welcome some suggestions. Here is a picture of her all alone.
1 comment:
Lucky Duck comes to mind...
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