We were at camp the other week, and got a first hand lesson in True Love and God's provision for the least of His creatures, but it wasn't a sparrow, rather it was a duckling. One thing we love about camp is it is located near a huge lake in a forested part of the state, meaning we get a chance to see all sorts of birds we don't have at home. Cavity nesting waterfowl are particularly common this time of year because there are all sorts of drowned out trees near a quiet marshy area. My son is as geeky as me, loving to both photograph and watch wildlife, and we've spent many great hours doing just that in that particularly marsh. So when he called me over, all excited to look at something, I was all curiosity at his discovery. It was a duckling, crouched under the front tire of a parked van. We were still in the main campground area, a good quarter mile from the nearest water and there wasn't another duck in sight, but there were dogs and kids and a cat all within easy view, to say nothing of the vehicle he had taken shelter under.
Usually the rule with wildlife, particularly young wildlife, is leave it where you found it because mom will be back shortly, but in this case, that wasn't going to happen. Mom had obviously lost track of the little bugger, bad counters as ducks tend to be, and he was on his own, and he wasn't a boring old mallard either. He was about half the size of a newly hatched mallard, had a pointy bill, and a crest, my guess was a hooded merganser, a cavity nester we had seen in previous years, but what were we supposed to do with the little fellow? It was getting dark and chilly, he wasn't more than a day old, and he was completely lost and alone, he wouldn't survive the night. It was too late in the day to call any federal or state wildlife agencies and get the name and number of a licensed wildlife rehabilitator and I wasn't about to just turn him loose in the marsh without someone to keep him warm and safe from predators. We found a cardboard box and put a t-shirt in it, he snuggled down and went to sleep, once he was secure we went scouting in the marsh, while we saw a bufflehead and a common goldeneye with their broods, there was no sign of any mergansers. I then checked in the camp office just to see if anyone knew any local wildlife rehabilitators and was referred to a certain pastor's wife and veterinarian who might know someone, the only problem was that was me! I didn't bother giving the lady a call as I was pretty sure I was clueless. We went to bed and wondered what to do with the silly little thing come morning!
All the books and movies and stories concerning such occurrences always imply that the kid should keep the orphan and have a cool pet, that wasn't an option in this case. For one it is a violation of federal law. And for another, a wild duckling, particularly a fish eating diving duck, just isn't going to be happy in captivity. I already felt bad for the little guy, he was obviously frightened, confused, and unhappy, and while we were doing everything we could for him, it just wasn't enough. I also felt bad that he might spend the rest of his life in a wildlife park or get eaten the minute they released him into the wild, never having learned anything about survival from his mother, but there didn't seem to be any other options. We got up early and hiked out to the swamp again, hopeful we might find the mother or at least a few bugs for breakfast. The interweb said baby hooded mergansers like live mealworms and duck tartar, though I believe the last was a typo and they meant duck starter, a grain mix formulated for young ducks, rather than gourmet raw duck!
We trekked out to the swamp, bug net in hand (I said we were geeks!). We saw the bufflehead and the goldeneye again, there was a male gadwall and pair of blue winged teal, and then, on the far edge of a reedy inlet, we saw a female hooded merganser with eleven young ducklings, this was probably our girl! No wonder she had lost track of one in their convoy from the nest hole to the water. I ran back to our room to get the box while my son kept an eye on the brood. He took off his sock and shoes, duckling in hand, and waded out through the rocks and weeds into the open water on the far side of the inlet from the hen. The duckling was a new creature the minute he hit the water, his crest was up and he swam around peeping like the king of the lake, he was the scared, cringing pathetic little thing no longer. We withdrew so as not to scare the female and hopefully allow the reunion to take place. My son was really sad he couldn't keep the cute little guy, but beneath his tears, his great big heart was glowing with joy, knowing he had done what was best for his little friend.
And that's what True Love is: doing what is best for the beloved, no matter the cost to oneself. Leaving the ninety and nine on the mountain to go in pursuit of the one lost sheep. And when Jesus says that God is aware even of a sparrow's fall, He isn't kidding. What are the chances that the one kid on the entire campground who can tell a loon from a cormorant happens upon the lost little guy and can help him find his way home? Who would care about the fate of one duckling out of a dozen? How much more is His love for each of us?
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