The Ground On Which We Stand

A Muscovy duck had landed in a suburban back yard. And into the jaws of a curious large dog. While the dog’s intentions were playful, for the duck, it was to prove fatal.

We arrived to find blood trickling from his beak and his red facial mask turning a sickening shade of blue. Donny was alive but fading fast. Then came the words: “There’s another duck just two doors down. Can you take them, too?”

We followed the tip and learned two ducks—maybe three—had been seen earlier close by. And with a quick flick of the net, Dandy was caught and reunited with his injured friend.

With hope in our hearts, we headed to the emergency after-hours avian vet. But as we slid open the van door, we quickly learned that help and hope are not always enough. Dandy was curled softly beside his friend, Donny, who had passed en route.

One life saved. One life lost.

Rescue is often bittersweet.

The next day brought another call. Another duck. And maybe a goose, all in the same area. What was going on?

With dusk closing in, we weren’t confident we’d find anyone. But there they were, hunkered down on a nature strip as if waiting for an Uber—a large white Muscovy with a splash of black feathers on his head.

The door flung open. The net swooped down. “That’s him!” we triumphantly cried. Confident we’d caught the final duck.

“You can’t have,” came the stunned voice on the phone. “I’m looking at them right now.” Ahh, that’s when the penny dropped—we’d found the ‘goose’!

And thanks to the caller’s vigilance, we soon found that fourth duck too—right where he was meant to be! But he didn’t make it easy, as Richard Branson showed us flight still lives in his breed. Though not quite a goose chase, but a Muscovy mission we had, complete with first class resistance!

With Richard issued his boarding pass, he joined Qantas. And as the “cabin doors” closed, we were sanctuary bound.

The reunion of Qantas, Richard and Dandy told us everything as they shook their tail feathers with their heads bobbing wildly—they knew each other. They could have been three long lost buddies, chatting at a bar. And though we’ll never know their full story, if Donny’s fate gives us a clue, their fates would not have been good.

Now safe, they waddle in step like they’re recreating Abbey Road. Their head feathers comically rise and fall, and their necks dart this way and that as their wings go wild splashing water. Their delight is unmistakable—as is their bond.

Their life is theirs. Their joy, their own. They live and love like a cat or a dog. But unlike them, their kind rarely garners sympathy.

Or protection.

Most councils don’t respond to calls for abandoned ducks and many people assume they’ll “be fine”.

But they won’t.

Though this rescue stretched us, it also reminded us that compassion is the ground we all stand on.

And it’s their ground too.