There is a sick/injured duck at our duck pond. All the other ducks have gone on to ponds that are not so choked with algae the water resembles green paint, but this duck has stayed all alone. It looks to me like her tail is broken.
Some of you may remember our heroic rescue of a pair of orphan ducklings from the pond early this summer. When Rio first encountered the injured duck, she wanted to bring it home and take it to the duck hospital, like we did with the babies. M persuaded her not to touch it.
When they got home, she told me at some length about the existence of this duck and the fact that she should not touch it because then she too might get sick. So she wanted to go back to the pond with a plastic bag and her stroller and pick the duck up with a plastic bag and put it, wrapped in plastic, in the basket under her stroller and bring it home and then take it to the duck hospital that way.
“It’s like poop!” she said excitedly. “Like when dogs poop and we don’t touch dog poop. We can pick it up with a plastic bag!”
This, apparently, is what I get for having kids with someone smarter than me.
(The duck, btw, appears to be healing. Today she flew across the pond and then did some serious swimming while Rio watched and jumped up and down with ecstatic glee cheering her on)
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