A Lesson from a Duck

My husband and I had lived in the city for many years. When we decided to take the remaining four of our five children still left at home and make the "big move" to the country, of course, we had a lot of things to consider. One very important choice was to have chickens and ducks at our new home. We spent a lot of time picking and choosing each bird individually. Each child would pick a bird and give it a very special name. Many evenings we would spend at the chicken pen just watching the antics of our new barnyard friends. Each bird had its own personality and each of our children had their favorites.

Months later in December, my 12 year old son James came running into the house.

"Mom, come quick. Something has gotten in the pen and killed our chickens and ducks", he sobbed.

I quickly grabbed my sweater and ran behind my son. As I approached the pen, my heart sank. There was no denying it. Something terrible had happened in the night. Feathers and dead chickens and ducks were strewn everywhere. Miss Bea hen lay dead in the corner of the pen, her beautiful fluffy white feathers partially plucked out of her now limp body. Old Miss Hen also lay dead. Everywhere I looked the same story. Something, probably a wild dog or coyote, had killed the small feathered creatures just for the thrill of chasing and killing them. Tears welled up in my eyes as I looked at my youngest son. He was being brave and not crying but I knew and felt his heartache. Suddenly, James exclaimed, "Mom, look one is still alive!" I walked slowly over to the small lifeless form of Henry the Duck with his feathers plucked out and lying around his body. He had been such a funny and happy duck. Now he lay dying in a bed of his own feathers. The flesh on his once proud breast was ripped and gaping open. Inside I could see his heart pumping. There was nothing else to do but put the poor dear thing "out of his misery."

"James, go and get the axe, we'll have to go ahead and kill him. He is suffering too much", I said weakly.

Once I held the axe in my hand I just couldn't do it. Oh where was my husband when I really needed him? I thought. I tried again but couldn't manage to get the axe down on the poor suffering Henry. My son said, "Mom can't you just sew him up?" I quickly explained to my son just because I'm a registered nurse did not mean that I could sew up a duck. I had never sewed anything other than clothes and especially not an animal.
What else could I do? I got the hydrogen peroxide and poured it into the ducks open chest then proceeded to sew his breast together with a needle and sewing thread. We carefully carried him into the house. Well, I thought, at least I did what I could. He will never live through the night or he'll die of infection. I crushed an aspirin up and put it in Henry's water and prayed that he would live. My husband came home from work and was very surprised to find a duck in the utility room that night.

Christmas morning found my family gathered around our tree and suddenly to all our amazement out waddled Henry. He was very weak and looked frightful with nearly all his feathers gone but he was alive. It was a true Christmas miracle.

Henry survived his ordeal and lived very happy in our yard for many years. One day he flew away. The next year we had Mallard looking ducks on our pond (a male and a female). We like to think it was Henry and his new family. Today I'm reminded, thanks to my son James and a duck that one should never give up hope...as long as there is a heart beating and someone who cares.

The Christmas season is a season of hope. God sent his only son as a gift to us and because of that gift we do have hope. This hope is the hope of eternal life.

My wish for each of you is that this year your life will be filled with love and hope.