You ever been alone with a duck? I mean really alone? Just you and duck – you’re actually holding said duck – looking into its beady eyes – which by the way – close from the bottom up. If you’ve ever been alone with a duck staring into its beady eyes – you’d know that.
There was a moment this summer – where I was indeed alone, holding a duck. With its beady eyes mere inches from my very own (beady eyes), I forgot that this thing could be mistaken for an adorable ball of yellow down.
In that moment, we were just two creatures brought together by a strange sort of fate that involved a credit card bill of sale in the amount of $150. Looking each other square in the face, I could actually believe this thing had thoughts and feelings – maybe not as complex as mine – but as complex as a duck’s thoughts can get.
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And then that horrific sound. Like a half-filled water balloon being stepped upon – and the streamer of projectile poop as it missiled outward from the cute yellow ball of fluff which – did I mention I’m holding. In my bare hands. No one tells you that cute l’il duckies have cute l’il a**holes that work on overdrive – but this is a reality when you bring ducks home to live at your house.
I have no doubt that one day, in the not too distant future, the story of our l’il duckies will morph into a tale of cute nostalgia and fluffy fuzziness. The summer of COVID yes – but also the summer we had l’il duckies for a month. That we rescued in a sense – that we played a part in irrevocably altering the course of their seemingly insignificant lives – for the better. And in turn, they had done the same for us.
But before that happens – this: a record of the mostly true and only slightly exaggerated tale of the summer of our l’il duckies. And how they helped change the trajectory of our COVID summer.
It was around Easter time when my oldest daughter first approached me – more like begged me – to allow her to “foster” some baby ducks. “No” is my go-to response whenever questions arise regarding animals . . . namely animals coming to live and/or stay in my home. I’m not an animal lover – although I’m also not an animal hater. I just prefer not to take care of anything that poops in my yard or in a cage.
So this daughter saw on someone’s Instagram page or Snapchat page or TikTok page – that a friend of a friend of a friend – had baby ducks. And can she please please please get some too? My answer? An emphatic and heavily weighted “No.” End of story. Except it wasn’t.
Because July 1st was my daughter’s birthday – a special one at that – sweet 16. My original plans had been dashed by a certain virus – and while I had picked her up some sought after bedding as well as a confetti-inspired Starbucks cup – I was still on the prowl for the perfect gift. A present that would surprise her and elate her and perhaps even temporarily dispel the fact that the world as she knew it was currently on hiatus.
The baby duck idea perched somewhere in my brain.
“I need to look into that” is what I thought. “Maybe fostering some ducks will actually work” – another thought. But then I put it out of my head.
A few days later – like a sign sent straight from angels directly to my husband’s Facebook page, he showed me a pic of some friends of ours playing with baby ducks. These friends live in our neighbourhood. Which meant that if they could take in a couple of ducks, then maybe this was actually doable for us too.
I did the research immediately – and by research I mean I looked up where we could get these ducks and how much it would set me back.
The website I found provided me with some answers. I needed to sign up, provide my credit card info and then await further instruction – but only if interested. From there, I would receive an email letting me know when our chicks were ready to be picked up. We would “foster” them for anywhere from 2 to 4 weeks, before returning them to the farm where they would be potentially sold to a sanctuary or butcher.
I use the term “foster” in the loosest sense possible – because if I’m paying to care for them – am I really fostering them? Or just getting sucked into what has turned out to be one of the greatest money-making schemes in my neck of the woods since HelloFresh came to town.
I talked to my husband about it and he was on board. I knew he would be – when it comes to questions about animals coming to live and poop on our property – he is hardwired to automatically utter “yes”.
So I signed us up, plugged in my credit card info and twiddled my thumbs. Uncertain as to whether it would happen – we decided not to utter a peep about it. Three days later, I received an email – our chicks were ready. We could pick them up the very next day.
I briefly toyed with the idea of packing all three kids up in the minivan the next morning and making the 2 1/2 hour drive without them knowing what we were doing or where we were going. But instead – decided that the anticipation of collecting little ducklings was part of our gift. So I showed my daughter the email.
There was much cheering and excitement before bedtime.
The next morning, we blew off a day of distance learning to load ourselves into the minivan complete with small yet tall container to carry the ducks home with us. And off we went.
Little yellow shivery balls of fuzz. That’s what they were when we collected them. So yes – very cute. Even I can admit as much. The man placed them in my daughter’s container, nodded his head toward a bag of food and a bag of wood chips – graciously included in the $150 price tag of caring for these little creatures. And off we went. No questions asked.
So our plan was to keep them for at least 2 but hopefully 4 weeks – then we could drop them back at the farm on our way to a cottage get-away we planned on taking as a family. Whether these little cheeping – soon-to-be quacking – creatures ended up sold to another farm or sanctuary or even butcher – it didn’t matter. Circle of life and all that jazz. What mattered was they were our responsibility for the next few weeks.
Pictures were snapped and posted and liked and shared. Questions were asked: Where did we get them? What was the plan? Were we okay with visitors?
Our house become a revolving door of guests coming by to cuddle the waddlers and watch them as they swam teeny laps in our inflatable baby pool purchased just for their use. There was much oohing and aahing as they craned their necks, and preened their feathers and guzzled from their water dish and ate their own poop.
Then I saw articles – sent my way by concerned friends and posted online by others; about this growing trend of “duck fostering”; and the ensuing ethical implications.
Ethical implications?
I didn’t realize or even consider that our fostering these baby ducks involved ethical implications. And doing a bit of research now was too little too late because the ducks were already in our possession. So the damage had been done.
The information I unearthed was damning: little ducklings hatched only because of my credit card contract; Some 70 ducklings hatched and fostered last summer with that number inflated to 700 during the summer of COVID.
Was I to believe that 700 ducks would be sold either to farms, sanctuaries – even butchers – in the midst of a global pandemic? Even I’m not that naive.
Quite possibly, these little creatures were only in existence due to my financial commitment and when we tired of them; when their peeps turned to squawks; when their soft yellow down morphed into coarse white feathers – they would be returned to the farm where we had gotten them and euthanized.
I’m not a vegetarian and I also accept that people eat and enjoy eating duck (though not me – I’m a chicken girl). But killing an animal for no just cause is most definitely something I don’t want to be involved in or contribute to.
I reached out to an acquaintance who runs a farm. I’d been to his place and seemed to remember there being a pond and a barn – an ideal residence for two ducks. Would they take them on after we’d tired of them? Yes they would. In fact, their son would be thrilled to take care of them. And so a new plan was hatched. When they outgrew their temporary tupperware home and were too much for us to handle – we’d bring them to their new home. Where they could hopefully live out their remaining days and where we’d be able to visit them on occasion.
And as for the farm we picked them up from? How would I explain not returning the pair? I figured that if questioned, I would fake their deaths: a vicious dog attack or a surprise hawk invasion – perhaps even a wayward footstep.
So the ducks stayed for a while – and at the four-week-mark when they were big and loud and my house was as fragrant as a crowded barnyard, we packed them up and delivered them to their third and final home.
And as it turns out, there was no need to tell a fib about their sudden demise – as the farm we got them from never reached out to me. Whatsoever.
While one day in the future, conversation revolving around the summer of 2020 may still include the phrase “Remember that summer the world was in lockdown and we all had to quarantine ourselves?” Maybe – just maybe – we’ll recall another significant event.
“Hey – remember that summer we rescued a couple of adorable baby ducks and they sh** all over our deck?”