The Suitcase Lady


November 18, 2008, 10:49 pm

The lone duck was hunkered down in the sand on the beach in front of our neighbor’s cottage. We spotted him when we were going down the stairs to take a beach walk.

We both suspected a problem. Ducks are flock birds; a single one is usually sick or injured with a broken wing, bullet hole or broken foot.

We mutually agreed to take our walk in the opposite direction so as not to frighten this wild, possibly immobile creature. When we came back a while later, the duck had not moved.

“Don’t interfere with nature” is a wise rule. However, I suggested that we might bring a pan of water and a dish of cracked corn down and place them a distance from the bird. Rehabbers have told me that many injured birds die from dehydration.

I went back to work in the house, and my husband took down the food and water.

A short while later he walked into the house with a smile and said, “Don’t worry, the duck is fine. In fact, he came up with me. He’s on the deck now.”

I was incredulous. But there he was on our deck.

The duck was a decoy washed ashore by the waves.

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