|Yes, she was up to something.|
we espied a duck in the back yard. Although we guessed what she
was up to, there were no other tell-
tale signs until Saturday, when she hopped onto the six-foot fence and called to her brood.
Unable to follow their mother (ducks can't fly until they're about two months old), the hatchlings left their hiding places and chirped plaintively. The lady of our house spent hours gathering nine of them in a box and carrying them outside to their mother.
|Seven ducks in a box.|
Hours later, TLOOH heard chirping coming from a storm drain a hundred feet away. Calls to the police and fire departments brought out hard-working public servants who tried with difficulty to mask their lack of enthusiasm. Upon prying open the cover, the firefighters found six ducklings--more than was expected from the faint noises--and agreed that the effort may have been worthwhile after all. Maybe the mother will come back, they counseled, otherwise you should take them to the SPCA
Meanwhile, the sound of its six rescued siblings lured a tenth
duckling from our backyard shrubbery. We now were responsible for seven (7). Hypoglycemia
was a danger, so we administered sugar water via syringe. Energized, they pecked at lettuce and raspberries and splashed merrily in a water-filled plastic tray.
It was 9 p.m. on Saturday night. The SPCA and other animal-rescue organizations had stopped taking calls. We set up an incandescent lamp above one corner of the box to keep them warm overnight.
What happened to the mother? What happened to the three siblings? Should we take the "lucky" seven to the SPCA? Answers would have to wait at least another day.