The Three Brothers

Those three remind me of a rather bewildering incident which happened several decades ago. We had rescued a wild duck from a gang of depraved mallards that had broken her wing while attempting to do her. After following the vet's instruction to fix it (of course she would never be able to fly again), we had released her.

A couple of days later, we found her in a dreadful condition, actually left for dead, very close to where we had found her the first time. She clearly had been assaulted again by other ducks. Now she had a broken leg. The vet was adamant: she would never be able to walk again, but she still could have a decent life with just one leg — and one wing left (sic).

With that, he advised me to sort of reeducate her leg in a large tub of water. Which I did everyday in sheer devotion but without much hope until a miracle happened: the duck could walk again... on her two legs. And damn quick! I'll spare you the vet's bad faith. We kept her for six months before eventually releasing her. With a big lump in my throat I must say, for I had become attached to her. Unlike my cat who would put up with her only because he had no choice.

So, one morning, three little ducklings walked through the wire fence and invited themselves to Sidonie's dinner bowl. Having learnt the hard way, she started pecking at them to keep them away from her food meanwhile the mother duck was so frantic she never thought of flying at their rescue and began quacking desperately. The cat, however, was apparently pleased at the opportunity to get an impromptu “snack” for breakfast. It was a moment of panic to address the incident without anyone losing any feathers no hairs, but fear not: everything turned out OK.

Happy Easter everyone!

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