Disclaimer: I am not a veterinarian, wildlife rehabilitation specialist, or any related animal-care professional. Any experiences represented in the following post should not be replicated or considered advice and anyone who comes across a vulnerable wild animal should consult the applicable, local laws on human interference with wildlife and should contact a licensed wildlife rehabilitator or veterinarian if they come across an injured or abandoned animal. I am not a lawyer and I do not recommend that unqualified individuals attempt to catch, raise, rehabilitate, or own any wild animals. I am not liable for any damages, fines, or jail time incurred by anyone attempting to remove an animal from the wild.
If you’ve read more than a few of my blog posts, you’ve probably already noticed that I really love ducks. Ducks were the first livestock of I ever owned and the first animal I introduced to my homestead. They hold a very special place in my heart. And as it so happens, I have a story to go along with my love affair with ducks.
As often happened during the fall, my grandpa and I were at his property clearing up sticks and leaves from the lawn when I came across an egg laying under a large tree. Me, being a curious 11-year-old, picked it up and showed it to my grandpa. He looked at it for a few moments and told me it was probably a turkey or duck egg and suggested that we try to hatch it.
At first, I thought he was joking when he said we should hatch it, but when I looked up at his face, I saw that he was serious. I was thrilled! What kid wouldn’t want to hatch an egg they found in their yard?
So, I gingerly held that little egg all the way home. When we got home, we were faced with a few problems – we didn’t have an incubator and we didn’t know how to hatch a duck egg or care for chicks. But in the 21st century, there’s nothing a few hours of internet research can’t solve, so I hopped on the desktop and got to work.
A few hours later, my grandparents and I had cobbled together a makeshift incubator with a Styrofoam cooler, a cover, and a sewing lamp. I put a piece of plastic mesh on a few wooden blocks and filled the bottom of the “incubator” with water, partially covered the top, and turned the lamp on. I placed the egg on the mesh and hoped for the best. After a few hours, I checked the temperature of the incubator and found that it was more-or-less at the right temperature. My grandpa and I crossed our fingers and hoped for the best.
Over the next four weeks, I candled the egg and watched as the chick inside grew and developed. I was amazed that my makeshift incubator was working and amazed at how a single egg could grow a life inside of it with just a little bit of heat. Remarkably, the embryo in the egg continued to grow and develop over the next 28 days until the day finally came that the egg began to hatch.
At the time that the egg pipped, I was away from the house at a drive-in movie with my parents; so, my grandma sent me a text with a picture of the egg. I flipped out and begged my mom to take us home early. She, of course, said no and that the egg would still be there in a couple of hours when we got home.
It seemed like the movie took a lifetime to finish, but I finally made it back to my grandma’s house and to my little egg. In the three of so hours since I saw the initial picture, very little had happened with the egg. There were a couple more holes besides the initial pip, but the chick was nowhere near hatching yet. I could barely stand to wait but knew that I couldn’t rush the hatching process… so I waited.
Finally, at about 2 AM the little duckling finally pushed himself out of the egg and took his first look at the outside world. He was adorable and so incredibly small. I picked the wet duckling up and spoke to him softly. It was at that moment that the duck bug implanted itself into my mind forever. I put my new duckling back in his incubator to dry off and went into the kitchen to prepare dishes of food and water for the hatchling. I watched the duckling as it dried off and took its first step and then I collapsed into bed.
Thankfully for me, the following day was not a school day, so I was able to sleep in after such a long night. Just like on Christmas day, I bounced out of bed the next morning to go check on my duckling who was, of course, awake and cheeping. I hurried to wake my grandparents and get them to help me set up the brooder for my duckling. They obliged me and my duckling was soon set up in his new home in the living room. My grandpa, being very thrifty, used an old crate to make the brooder and instead of bedding, used a swatch of left-over carpet from their hallway. Was the setup a bit unconventional? Yes. Did it work anyway? Absolutely.
I wasted no time taking plenty of pictures with my little duckling and bonding with it. I also decided to name the duckling Gary after my late uncle. I had nothing set up to house a growing or adult duck, but this little oversight was the farthest thing from my mind in that moment. I spent the remainder of that day photographing Gary, cuddling him, sprucing up the brooder, talking about ducklings, and doing excessive research on duck care.
The next day started off much the same – lots of pictures, cuddling, and obsessing of my fluffy ball of cuteness… until my mom showed up.
Little did I know, that while I was heedlessly enjoying my duckling, my mom and grandma had started talking about the practical side of the situation. As rational adults do, they decided that there was no way I could keep the duckling and decided that the best plan was to give the duckling to a wildlife rehabilitation center. Later that day, my grandparents and mom dropped the news that I needed to give the duckling up. I was understandably upset and probably threw a bit of a fit. Despite having this duckling for less than two days, I was heartbroken but eventually realized that I needed to do what was best for the duckling.
The next evening, I found myself in the car with my mom and grandmother, holding Gary the duck in a box on my lap on our way to meet a wildlife rescuer at a Walmart parking lot. 
I think I cried most of the way there and made sure to tuck the duckling’s stuffed racoon toy in the box with him.
When we arrived at the parking lot, we quickly found the wildlife rehabilitator waiting and handed the duckling over after saying a quick goodbye. The rehabber chided us for incubating the egg that we found instead of turning the egg over to them to incubate. Nonetheless, he was happy that they received the duckling at such a young age as it meant his chances of being released into the wild were good. I said my final goodbye and my family headed home.
For the next few days, I talked nonstop about how wonderful ducklings are and how fun it would be to raise ducks. I think my grandpa felt a little bit bad for me that I had to give up Gary the duck, and he told me that I could get some ducks the following Spring. A few months later, my journey with ducks began and I have never looked back.
In hindsight, I now realized that it was the right choice to give the duckling to a professional wildlife rehabilitator so that he could have a chance to live the life God intended for him. That said, I have never once regretted the experience of incubating and briefly raising that wild duckling because it sparked a love for what would later become a life-long passion for me.
Everyone has their own stories about their passions. Let me know what your story is!
