I have never kept a journal. But a cousin of Donna lived with us off and on for 4 years while she was in college, and I was interested to see how committed she was to writing in her journal. Then my association with Pure Hope Foundation taught me a lot about managing emotions. They tell the interns that keeping a journal is a way to process bad experiences and get those paralyzing emotions out of their heads so they can move on with their lives.
Last week was an emotionally difficult week for me. I was feeling:
Profoundly sad at the loss of a new friend.
Deeply disappointed that all the good times I had anticipated were not to be.
Mystified as to what happened.
All this emotional baggage had taken me down into a deep hole. I couldn’t think about anything else. So, in a moment of desperation, I decided to try journaling.
Quackster is a baby wood duck who hatched late in one of our 7 duck boxes. The name Quackster was suggested by Grok, the Artificial Intelligence voice that lives in our car.
Jump day is one of the most entertaining events in nature. Since we have video cameras in some of our duck boxes, we can see the babies hatch, and we know that the next morning they will jump out of the box. But on this jump day, Quackster had hatched late and wasn’t strong enough to climb the ladder and jump out of the nest box when mama duck called, so he got left behind.
Eggs hatching late happen about 10% of the time, but it is uncommon for us to have just one baby wood duck to raise. When that happens, and the baby duck is left with only us for companionship, a deep connection forms. We become the baby duck’s family, and the baby wants to follow us everywhere. For us, it becomes a very rewarding experience, but… it consumes our lives for 60 days until they fly off the lake.
On May 2, 2026, Quackster was six days old. He had been feeding himself for several days (that means we don’t have to get up in the middle of the night anymore). He had lots of energy. He was growing. He was on his way to becoming an independent wild wood duck. This is the story of that day.
The lifestyle we provide for baby ducks does not align well with their innate instincts, but Quackster was adjusting. I was optimistic and filled with eager anticipation about the close relationship that I would have with Quackster.
Quackster lived in our adult guest room shower. When I took him his breakfast of hard-boiled egg yolk chopped up and put in his frisbee with lake water, he ate with enthusiasm and settled under his heat lamp.
Normally, when I try to pick him up, he moves away from me. This day was different. I put my hand down on the bottom of the shower, and he came to me. He wanted to be picked up. That was a breakthrough. He had accepted me as his mom.
I was so happy that we were coming together to be friends. I picked him up, went downstairs, and sat in Pete’s chair (named after my father-in-law). Any time I put a baby wood duck in my lap, they want to climb. Maybe that’s an instinct that prepares them to climb the ladder inside their nesting box and jump out into the world.
As I settled into my chair, Quackster jumped onto my T-shirt and started climbing. He climbed up to my shoulder and settled on the back of my neck between the collar of my shirt and my neck. He seemed reasonably secure there, so I left him.
For the next hour, Quackster stayed in that spot. Every few minutes, he would nibble on my hair, and I would know he was okay. Both Quackster and I were happy with that arrangement. As Donna and I talked with our house guests. Quackster and I were bonding. It was another breakthrough.
Quackster is the first baby wood duck to choose the back of my neck as “his spot”. I liked his choice. It was good for both of us. I was very pleased with how our relationship was developing.
When Donna, our guests, and I decided to go have breakfast, I took Quackster back to his shower home. He got into his box with his stuffed animal toy. When we got home several hours later, I gave Quackster more egg yolk. He stayed in his box with his stuffed toy, so I didn’t get him out. A little later, Donna checked on him and reported that he was uncharacteristically lethargic.
This was a bit worrisome, but I remained confident that we were on a good path.
By late afternoon, I was ready to take Quackster back downstairs. When I opened the shower door, Quackster was lying under the heat lamp. I could tell immediately that he was dead.
I was stunned. I was puzzled, “How could this happen?” Then a wave of sadness swept over me. Then I descended into the swamp of depression. All of my promising fantasies about the good times to come are not to be.
Donna and our house guests were with her father at his house. I sent her a text and started digging Quackster’s grave. We buried Quackster on a hill where he can see the lake and watch his siblings grow up. I said this prayer:
“God of little creatures, please take this tiny baby wood duck, Quackster, and put him in a place where the water is always warm, and there are lots of bugs. Amen”
Over the years, Donna and I have raised over 100 baby wood ducks and a few black-bellied whistling ducks. Almost all have lived to fly off the lake. A few have died. Usually, the cause is apparent, such as a severe birth defect. Quackster was doing great.
I have asked myself many times, “What could I have done differently?” I have no answers. The cause of his death will forever be a mystery.
Goodbye Quacksters. I miss you, and I miss the anticipation of the relationship that we were creating.
Duck Daddy Bob
