The Night We Rescued A... Duck?

We turned up the long gravel drive, fencing on one side. A mix of donkeys and horses dotted the pasture, enjoying the cool breezy air and imminent nightfall. At the gate stood Terry, the property owner, waiting for our arrival.

We slowed, rolling down the window.

“Head down to the house—I’ll meet you there,” Terry said, pointing further along the rocky driveway. Then he hopped onto a nearby lawn mower and followed behind.

The house was tucked away in the woods, with navy-blue siding and white trim. A dog barked as we pulled up, making sure we knew whose land we were on. The three of us—Terry, Amanda, and I—walked down a gently sloped path beside a pond, where Quackers was supposed to be.

Quackers, a white duck with an orange beak, had managed to hop a fence that enclosed the property. He was now somewhere beyond his domain.

Past a small barn and into a lightly wooded area, the trail suddenly steepened. At the bottom we reached the fence—the one that hadn’t managed to contain the mighty (or mischievous) duck. Just beyond it, no more than a stride away, lay a creek. Its clay banks rose steep like a gorge, taller than most people. The water below was murky, its depth uncertain—though we guessed it was maybe three feet at most.

After a quick scan of the scene and a few words of caution, we began figuring out the safest way down. Amanda went first—her spirit bold, always ready to leap into action. A foot on a clump of grass, then a rock, another, then the cold. Not shocking… yet. Net pole in hand, she moved through the water toward the white bird about fifteen yards away.

With each step, the mystery of the creek revealed itself. The depth shifted unpredictably. When the water reached her ribcage, it seized her breath. Still, she pushed on. There was an animal to save.

From the bank, Forrest had been watching. Seeing Amanda’s struggle, he stepped in to help. He followed her path—but every step sank deeper under his weight, the soft bottom giving way beneath him. Eventually, he made it past Quackers, positioning himself on the far side. Now the duck was flanked: one rescuer in front, the other closing in behind.

Quackers gave a few defiant flaps, tried to paddle away—and then swoosh... kerplunk. The net found its mark.

Amanda handed the duck to Forrest, who lifted him up to Terry waiting on the raised bank. Over it went—safe, home. Quackers waddled up the embankment and back toward his pond.

More slipping, wading, and trudging followed before Amanda and Forrest managed to climb out of the creek. Only the fence remained between them and the van. They shared a laugh as they strolled back, glancing once more at Quackers now floating serenely in his pond.

The ride home was wet, cold, and pungent enough to warrant a cracked window. But laughter filled the car—another animal saved, another day’s adventure, more memories made... for those who remember.