This guy is the chief, aka as Grandpa.
For some reason nearly every spring for the past ten years or so, we find ourselves in the position to save baby ducks and herd them safely to the canal near our neighborhood.
We seem to have developed baby duck radar.
I don't know if we find them or they find us.
We have saved baby ducks from dogs, cats and and all kinds of terrible fates.
This week however, we moved to a new status in this job.
Mark and I got up early last Monday for a quick run.
On our way along the path, we noticed a mother duck flapping her wings and making some noise. We didn't think too much of it.
An hour or so later, my sister Jenny and I were walking with our babies when we passed mother duck again. This time, she got my attention.
We stopped and I bent down to look in the storm drain to see what was wrong.
Eight little sets of eyes peeked back up at me.
We ran home for help.
The chief and a few neighbors grabbed some tools and hurried back to the drain.
By the time they got there, the babies were gone.
They could hear little peeps from way back inside the drain, but no babies in sight.
Meanwhile, I stayed home to call a professional. They assured us that someone would come.
Tuesday morning Jenny and I were walking with our babies again. Certain that the people from the county had recused them yesterday, I almost didn't look as we passed by the drain.
As I bent down to look inside, eight little faces peered up at me, begging me to find a way to get them out of there.
It was time to take matters into our own hands.
We determined to find a way to save those ducklings.
We assembled a team and formulated a plan for rescue.
Unfortunately, by the time we got back to the drain, they were gone again.
We tried calling them. Nothing.
We tossed bread down there. Still nothing.
We were about to give up when I remembered those sweet little faces.
Before I knew it, I volunteered to go down inside the drain and have a look.
We pried the grate off and VERY reluctantly I slid down under the ground.
It was stinky, it was dark, spider webs were everywhere. My germ phobias were going nutty.
They passed me down a flashlight and there in the corner a couple of feet in, the babies were
sleeping. All eight carefully piled on top of each other.
I asked my sister to climb down with me. She did.
She carefully picked up each little feathery bundle and gently placed them in a basket.
In assembly line fashion, we passed the babies until they were safely above ground.
Our crew pulled us out of that stink. Our running shoes were ruined but the babies were safe.
Sadly, mother duck had given up.
We couldn't find her anywhere.
Grandma walked up and down the street looking for her.
The baby ducks followed.
Each turn grandma made, they followed with exactness.
Finally we decided to take them to the canal.
Grandma tossed the babies in.
They quickly climbed out and started following her again.
We gathered them up and tossed them into the water, again they scurried out to surround Grandma's feet.
Then Grandma had a good idea.
She would try to get them adopted by another duck family.
She spotted a mother and father duck and four babies swimming by.
I said a little prayer as she gently released them to the care of the new parents. Within moments the new family welcomed them into the fold. The adoptive mother didn't seem to mind that her responsibilities had just tripled.
Off they swam.
We took a deep breath and walked back to the car.
Our shoes were full of sludge but our hearts were full of thanks.
And so goes the life of of duck rescuers.
