It was a bitter, cold winter day. I sat in my office typing transcripts, when I heard my co-worker say, “There’s a duck in the road.”
I leaned back in my chair and removed one earpiece. “A duck?”
“A duck.”
“A duck???“
“A duck.”
What can I say? I like to look at wildlife. I threw down my headset and ran over to the window.
Sure enough. There was a duck in the road. A kinda dead-ish-lookin’ duck.
A man got out of a nearby truck, placed the mallard drake on a snowbank on the curb and got back in his vehicle. I could only assume he was the murderer.
But wait – what if the duck still had life? It must be saved! Leaping into action like the superhero that I am, I raced to the coat closet and grabbed my shawl.
I raced down the stairs and out the door, barefoot in the snow (I work in a very casual office – don’t judge), darting through traffic as I made my way across the busy street (well, okay, sort of busy…ish).
The duck was clearly in shock, though without too much visible injury. It lay on the snow, looking up at me with sad, pleading eyes. Wrapping it tenderly in the shawl, I carried it quickly to the heater inside, barking out phone numbers of vets for my co-worker to call as I ran. After a few hasty phone calls, a doctor was found who would treat the wild bird and a driver for my car was found to transport us both to the clinic.
The car wove in and out of traffic, making every second count as we rushed the injured bird to the doctor. It refused to stay in the box designed to be used as an emergency stretcher, preferring instead to stay in my arms, twining its long neck around my own. This bird would not die! This bird must be saved! It was DESTINY!
Leaving the animal in the trusted care of the doctor, I returned to my office, triumphant. Confidant that I had made a difference. Grateful that I had found the bird and been able to play a part in its survival.
Glowing and relieved, I bounded up the steps to the office two at a time. Several regular clients were at the top. I greeted them cheerily and waved, smiling my big I-just-saved-something smile.
They looked at me weird.
I went to the washroom to wash my hands before returning to my desk. That’s when I noticed my face was smeared with mallard blood and my sweater covered in feathers.
And, um…yeah. The duck died.
I forgot about that one — and even though the poor duck didn’t make it, you’re still a hero!
Well it was a good try, wasn’t it? You couldn’t help it that duck was a quitter, could you? Haha, I like thinking of you barefoot at work. You know what I would like to see is statistics on how many you have saved, and how many you have lost. Not that I would judge you based on the statistics, but maybe if you could have told the duck you have a 60% success rate it would have given it something to hold on to. Besides your neck and sweater.
You know, right after I posted this, it occurred to me that people are going to start thinking all the animals die around me. But I have actually saved a few. Remind me to tell you about that – it makes me seem like a much cooler person.