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A fluttering sound turned both our heads toward the lake. A white duck sat on the water’s edge, flapping its wings. It stood and attempted to walk but limped and crooked to one side.
“Is he hurt?”
“I don’t know.” Fox set down his beer and walked down toward the water. I followed. Close up, at first I thought the poor little guy only had one leg, but then I saw the other. It was bent up in a flamingo stance, except it looked like he was struggling to put it down.
“I think his leg’s broken,” I said.
“No. It’s tangled in some damn fishing line.” Fox scooped up the duck. It freaked out and flapped its wings. His orange bill opened and clamped down on Fox’s hand. “Damn it! I’m trying to help you, you little fucker. Let go.”
I walked close and stroked the terrified duck’s back. He unclenched from Fox’s hand, leaving a mark behind but the skin wasn’t broken.
“Shh…” I said softly. “It’s okay. Everything is going to be alright.”
Fox shook out his hand and nodded toward the house. “I need a clipper to cut the line. I have one in the garage somewhere.”
We walked around to the garage, and he set the duck down on top of a workbench as he rummaged through some drawers. Finding what he was looking for, he clipped at the clear fishing line.
“It’s a catch-and-release fishing lake,” he said. “Damn kids cut the line and throw the fish back in with the hook still set in their mouth because it’s easier than removing the barb. The fish either die or they manage to work the hook out, but then the line catches the ducks when they swim by.”
“Awww… This poor little guy.” I stroked the animal’s feathers, and he leaned his head on my shoulder and looked up at me.
“Sure,” Fox said. “I pick you up and cut you loose, but you bite me and flirt with her.”
It took about ten minutes, but Fox managed to remove all the tangled fishing line knotted around the duck. The line had cut into him and left a big gash on his leg. Fox set the bird down on the garage floor to see if it could walk. It limped a few steps toward the open door, but then came back and nuzzled against my leg.
“Oh my gosh. She’s so sweet. We can’t let her go back in the lake injured.”
“He’ll be fine.”
“How do you know?” I petted the top of the duck’s head. “Daisy might get an infection or her leg might not be strong enough for swimming.”
Fox’s forehead wrinkled. “Who?”
“Daisy Duck.”
“How do you know it’s a girl?”
“I can just tell. She’s so sweet.”
“Heis also pretty big and has a curled feather at the end of his tail, so I hate to break it to you, but your Daisy Duck is more likely a Donald Duck.”
“You’re making that up.”
Fox shrugged. “Believe whatever you want. But he’s going back in the water.”
Fox went to grab him, but Daisy snuggled her bill into my cleavage. He pulled his hands back and grumbled. “Definitely a boy.”
“Let’s bring her into the yard and see what she does. Maybe she’s scared in the garage since she’s used to being outside.”
“Fine.”
I carried Daisy to the backyard and set her down next to the deck. She seemed content until I sat down in the Adirondack chair. Then she limped her way over and parked herself between my feet. “See? She isn’t ready to go back in the water yet.”
“What are you going to do with it? Tuck it into bed next to you? Those things carry all kinds of bacteria and shit all over the place.”
He had a point. But I couldn’t let this cute little duck back into the wild if she wasn’t ready. “She can stay in my garage.”
Fox shook his head. “Ducks don’t belong inside.”
