Padraig

March 17, 2008 – October 7,2009

(Written on the day that he died.)
This morning, probably just before dawn, our ducks were attacked by a Cooper’s Hawk. We don’t get many of them around here, only one last year, and we always thought that our ducks (Rouen, a larger French variety of Mallard) were too big to be picked up by anything. Echo may have scared it away when I let her out. I was on the phone with my friend LD, went out to feed them, and saw Padraig’s body, not eaten, just ripped up. I screamed and cried, but was remarkably calm once I saw that another duck was hurt and needed medical attention. I had thought that her left leg was broken, because she’s really wobbly on her feet and kept falling over. Bridgette is injured, but not seriously. I found a vet that would treat her, and he said that her leg isn’t broken and that she didn’t have any puncture wounds. I had thought that her left leg was broken, because she’s really wobbly on her feet and kept falling over. The doctor said that she’s off-balance due to the fact that the hawk may have hit her in the head, (they kill birds by breaking their necks) and also most of her wing feathers fell out in the struggle. He gave her a steroid shot and antibiotic. I buried Paddy and laid stones over his grave. It puts things into perspective. I had to go to EMU to turn in some papers, and it was a good distraction to drive there, but I cried most of the way home. I raised him from a one-day-old duckling, born on Saint Patrick (Padraig)’s day. He was a sweet duck, he played games with Echo and us, always chasing us, but running scared when we turned around. He loved his ladies, his pond, and spinach. I like to think that Padraig saved Bridgette by going after the hawk himself, but we’ll never know what actually happened. I just wish I could have stopped it. He was a great duck and our friend.