There was a mama duck trying to raise her babies on the pond outside my (not “my” I just live here right now) cottage. She’s been trying to keep her ducklings safe from an eagle that lives nearby. I ran out there three or four times in the past few days to shoo that eagle away, but… I knew eventually the eagle would succeed. The eagle had help from a crow.
I went out for a walk today, earlier than usual. A beautiful, sunny day, with just a hint of chem trails. Mama duck is gone. I thought yesterday afternoon it seemed very quiet… I thought yesterday evening she was gone. Now, I know she’s dead, I can feel it. There were eleven babies to start with. I think there might be two left. They’re pretty small still… I don’t think I’m doomed, as in, about to actually die, but… is it weird to feel that the mama duck is … me? Me, in this particular circumstance?
Every year wildlife produces, having predators around proves it in balance to available habitat is my take. No predators means there is no wildlife. The pain is real, but that is the way it has been for a very long time. Sorry.
I don’t know what type ducks, nor how feathered out, but if they’re within your reach, give it a try. Capture/lure them in. Breadballs. Net them gently. Bring them in. Basket. Blankets. Warmth. Mushed up pond weed. Resign yourself to their demise, then dedicate yourself to their life. What have you got to lose? I have saved, and lost, various wildlife. Go try to get them.