Yesterday was the one-week anniversary of the passing of our cat, Otis. Still a very raw subject. We adopted Otis from a Petco-sponsored animal shelter, on the corner of Broadway and 16th, at Union Square, in NYC. He literally crawled out of his cage up to my shoulder; he then leapt from my shoulder to Warren's, and when the purring commenced, we knew we'd been adopted.
Four apartments/houses, two and a half years, and two states later, he passed away on Mother's Day, May 9, on the way to the ER Vet, in Denver, Colorado.
So, yesterday was the 1-week anniversary. Warren came home from golfing (yes, he golfs, loves to golf, the long-hair with the golf clubs, that's Warren), to find a neighborhood cat peering down into our basement window well, tail swaying slowly back and forth. When Warren approached, the cat scurried away, revealing what he was drooling over: two one-week-old baby ducks. They were mallard ducks, black with yellow markings, not yet feathered, really, but furry instead.
When I got home, Warren introduced me. Immediately, of course, the JoeyTribiani-like urge to rear them crashed on top of me. "They are sooooo cute! They think I'm their MAMA!!" But I quashed this urge, (this PRIMAL urge), and we sat down to figure out what to do with them. Take them over to the pond? Set them down near some other ducks? Feed them until Animal Control comes around? Swaddle them in blankets and put a bottle on to warm?
I did some quick Google-ing, and discovered that, first of all, mallard ducks are protected by Federal Law and it's illegal to keep them as pets. (Damn.) Second, they are very vulnerable at that age to dehydration and hypoglycemia. (And I thought I was the only chick around here with those issues). Third, taking them to a local pond and placing them with some random mother duck could have DIRE consequences (sometimes the new "mother" kills them). We were running out of ideas.
So, more Google-ing.
To my delight, I find that there are people licensed to rehabilitate orphaned animals, such as bats, foxes, and ducklings. (Bats, huh? Okay... to each his own.) I called one of these rehabilitators, a lady in Littleton, and she said to bring them by right away. So we scooped them up into an old cardboard cat carrier (the one Petco sold us when we adopted Otis). They were frightened, so I accidentally, VERY VERY ACCIDENTALLY, kind of... dropped one of them... into the cat carrier. It was an accident! He was struggling, and he kind of fluttered and flew out of my hand, running headlong into the bottom of the box. But Joe was a trooper; he shook it off, looked around as if to say, "that was a doozy", and resumed chirping.
Can ducks incur brain damage?
We put them in the back seat of Warren's car, and they chirped and flapped their wings all the way to Littleton. We met the lady, got some more information (what happens to them now, etc), and said our goodbyes to Joe and Marshall.
Moral dilemma: to eat duck, or to not eat duck?! Is there any way to know if a duck has lived a full life, before it ends up on my plate?! Cows are pretty cute, too, now that I think about it. Not sure about this whole carnivore thing, all of a sudden. At least buffalo look as though they were MADE to be eaten by humans. They just have that "oh, GO ON, don't keep me waiting all day" look about them.
So, anyways... still missing Otis like crazy... but feeling good about little Joe and Regis. Joe and Trustus. Joe and Tookus.
The woman in Littleton said I could keep in touch, to find out how they're doing. I'd rather not. I'd rather live out the rest of my life in a blissful state of ignorance. I'd like to imagine Joe and Somebody, alive and well, eternally chirping (not quacking), and jumping madly to get out of that cat carrier (which to them, must smell like DEATH BY FELINE).
Bye, Joe and Somebody! Have a nice life.
--Cara
What would we do without GOOGLE, I ask you?
