Oh, Henry!

It was in the year 2000 while driving home from my restaurant after a long day's work that I spotted the duckling walking along the side of the road.


I thought, "It's 2 am. That duck should not be wandering around right now."


This was the beginning of a few miracles centered on that little orphan.


I put my 1965 Chevy in reverse and backed up to where I had seen it.


I had my mother with me because I took care of her as she suffered from dementia and I was her only care-giver. She had told me many times over the years that she never wanted to live in a nursing home and I was honoring her wishes, even if it required unconventional arrangements.


I told her I would be right back and got out of the car. I approached the duckling slowly so that I wouldn't frighten it, but it didn't seem to mind being picked up and carried. I think it was in shock and I could see by the street light that there was some sort of injury to it's left eye. I got back in the car and handed the duck to my mother and told her to hold it, but not too tight.


I didn't live far from the restaurant so it was a short drive. When I got home I took the ducking and held it kind of like a small football, between my forearm and my body, while I helped my mother out of the car and into the house.


My dogs Pookie and Noah greeted us at the door, as usual, and I let them have a quick sniff of the duck, telling them, "It's a baby." These words were code to Pookie meaning she was not to harm, but protect the bird. Pookie was an amazing dog and always seemed to understand every word I said. Noah was not very good with understanding spoken words, but he was so gentle that he did not have to be told anything regarding the bird. He was gentle to every creature and would leave the room if you even raised your voice. But Pookie was territorial, and if I didn't tell her that a critter was a "baby," she would try to chase it away or attack it if it didn't leave. She was the same way with people. She always had to have me say they were "okay" or she would not let them near the house or the car. She always protected her own.


Noah left the room to go back to sleep, but Pookie stayed in the livingroom watching my every move.


I should have gotten Mom ready for bed, but she was fascinated by our new friend so I let her stay up and watch me work on my patient's injured eye..


I talked to Mom the while I evaluated his injury. There was no eyeball in the socket, just a lot of puss. I got the syringe I use to feed baby birds and other small critters. I filled it with warm water and squirted it into the eye socket, still football-holding the duck, but tipping it's head over the bathroom sink. The duck didn't seem to mind.


Now I could see that the hole was filled with a lot of small worms. (Yeah, I know that's gross, but "facts is facts.")


I got the hydrogen peroxide bottle, filled the syringe, squirted some into the socket and the poor little duck started to freak! I quickly switched back to water and gave it a long rinse. The worms were still there.


I walked out into the kitchen to look for something to use on those worms. I was totally amazed to find that the bottle of wormer I kept for my dogs was on the counter. I hadn't put it there.


I merely said, "Thank you, Lord." and grabbed the bottle, shook it up and went back to the bathroom to fill the syringe yet again. I put a good amount into the duck's eye socket and the duck quietly endured my efforts.


Suddenly the worms began sliding out. There were a lot more of them in there than I thought would fit. I repeated the wormer applications until no worms came out.


I then switched to warm water and when the water ran clear, I applied some of my favorite ointment, Neosporin, to the cavity. Then I put the stopper in the sink and allowed it to fill with water. I gently placed the duck in the sink and it began the typical head dipping wash that ducks do. After it seemed satisfied with it's bath, I pulled the drain plug and when the water had drained, the duck shook off the excess water from it's feathers.


I picked it up and brought it to Mom for inspection.


I asked her what she thought we should name it and she answered, "Henrietta." That was Mom's own name. I told her that was a wonderful name for our little duck. I had her hold Henrietta while I went about making a little pen in a corner of the living room. I found a large roasting pan which I hadn't used in quite a while. It would be a perfect makeshift pond for little Henrietta.


I took Henrietta and stroked her for a while and she settled down onto my lap. I let her have a nap.


I couldn't believe that I was not tired even after working for 20 hours, but I needed to get Mom into bed. I was sure she was exhausted.


I got some crushed corn from the fridge out back where I stored my chicken food and put the duck in the pen with her dinner.


Mom got into bed and I tucked her in and returned to watch my new house guest. When she was done eating I put her into her "pond" and she drank and floated and looked totally content. Pookie lay nearby and I repeated "It's a baby, Pookie." And I knew she would never harm little Henrietta.

Pookie and I retired to bed.

When I got up in the morning, the duck was already eating the left-overs from the night before. I went to the kitchen and found some veggies and salad greens to put in the pen. I got showered and dressed and got Mom up. After she was washed and dressed, I checked on Henrietta. She wasm in her pond. After changing the paper on the floor of her pen and adding more food, we left for work.

I started getting things ready for the lunch crowd while Mom watched TV until the bus arrived to pick her up for day care, where she went five days a week for six hours each day. That day care was such a blessing. Sometimes Mom would bring home crafts she had made. One day she brought me a little pom-pom catepillar. I glued it on the dashboard of my car and it is still there today.

When we got home later that night, we said hello to the dogs and let them out and greeted our new house guest. Henrietta seemed to be enjoying her roasting-pan-pond. I cleaned up her pen, put some food down and Mom and I watched her for a while. When she was done eating, I picked her up and sat down, letting Henrietta sit on my lap. She nestled her head under my arm and was soon fast asleep. I could smell the duck smell of her. She smelled just like the ducks I had cooked and eaten in the past. I said to her "I will never eat duck again." And I haven't. Years later I started eating Kosher and was delighted that duck is not an approved food. I was glad that there are a lot of people who don't eat duck. I wish no one did.

After we had her for a couple of weeks, I decided Henrietta might be happier roaming around in the tall grass in the back yard during the day while I was at work. There were 12 chickens out there to keep her company and she could hunt for bugs and greens to eat. I told her we would be back later.

When we came home, I couldn't find her out there so I told Pookie to "find the baby" and off she went, hurrying through the grass. When Pookie stood still, I went to her and there was Henrietta, asleep in the grass. I picked her up and carried her into the house, praising Pookie for a job well done.
The next night we did the exact same thing. But on the third night, when I opened the back door to go hunt for Henrietta, she was already there on the porch waiting for me. She walked right in. From then on she was at the door when I got home.
After another month or so I noticed Henrietta's feathers were changing color. As the days went by she really started getting gorgeous feathers. As she sat on my lap each night I could see the intricacies of each feather's design. I saw how a mark on one feather lined up perfectly with a mark on the next feather and the next, until it formed a ring around her neck. "Hey, wait a minute," I said to her. "You aren't a girl duck. You're a boy duck!" His adult feathers had revealed his sex.
I told Mom we were going to have to start calling the duck Henry.
A few days later, I noticed one of my chickens was missing. This was the first of a string of chicken disappearances. I started coming home earlier so I could lock up the coop and bring Henry in to try to keep them all safe from whatever predator was snatching them. I suspected it was a coyote. It seemed the coyote caught on, and would come earlier for it's meal. When there were only two chickens left, I would come home at closing time and put the birds in, then return to the restaurant for the clean up.
One day when I got home, Henry was not there waitng for me. I had Pookie help me search, but Henry was not to be found. Mom and I were heartbroken. The next morning I went all over the neighborhood calling for him and asked a few neighbors if they had seen a duck. No luck. I didn't give up hope and would call for him each evening and each morning.
Once the last two chickens were gone, I didn't keep any chickens again until I was able to put up a good system of fences, years later.
But as it turns out, the story doesn't end here.
A few days ago I was chatting with a neighbor that I had only waved to before. The subject of coyotes came up and I said that I didn't like coyotes at all. They are not native to this area, but were introduced by meddling humans who think they know how to balance nature better than nature itself. I said the coyotes had eaten all of the chickens I had years ago, and had even gotten my duck.
He asked, "You used to have a duck?"
I said, "Yes..."
He said, "Did it have only one eye?"
I said, "Yes..."
He said, "I was wondering why that duck was so friendly! It came to my house down by the pond over there. It just showed up one day and I went and got some bread and it ate right out of my hand. It was there every day for about two weeks and then one day it showed up with a female. I never saw it again after that."
What absolute joy filled me at that moment. Henry hadn't gotten taken by coyotes. As it turned out, he could have been to my house numerous times during those weeks. If he had come during the day while I was at work, I never would have known it. I worked seven days a week.
Was it just luck that had him go to that house and bring his mate with him on the last visit? Was it coincidence that had the conversation with my neighbor turn to the topic of coyotes? Why did the mere mention of my ducks dissappearance cause him to remember the one-eyed duck from eight years ago? I think God was involved in all of it. I think God loves us enough to know what will make us happy and that He can move heaven and earth just to bring joy to the heart of one of His children.