"Darking Bogs": Quacktastrophes and Christmas Miracles

“Medli fell over!” My child’s voice rang through the minivan with shock and horror. I jumped out of the minivan and ran to the back. I pulled open the trunk and peeked into the bin. Three ducklings happily waddled around while a fourth, Medli, lay stiff on the floor.

An image flashed into my mind: Just a week or two earlier, I had looked out the back door to see one duckling splayed out across the patio step. When I picked her up, she waddled away and had seemed perfectly normal since. But clearly, something was not normal.

I scooped up the duckling and she slipped out of my hands and waddled off to join the others. I returned to my seat in the minivan and we began driving off. My mind raced. Was she sick? Was she deficient in essential nutrients? Would the other ducklings succumb to whatever condition this one had? It was somewhere around mid-morning or early afternoon on Christmas Day, and we were in another state. I felt completely helpless. Maybe this incident was a weird fluke, I thought hopefully.

Hours later, the four ducklings happily ran around in the fenced backyard at my parents’ house. We put their bin in the garage, but figured that in a fenced backyard, in broad daylight, they would be perfectly safe playing outside—plus, although they were only two months old, they were quite large.

I eyed Medli skeptically, but I didn’t see any concerning behaviors. Later, as I chatted with relatives on the phone, I ran outside, into the early evening light, and pointed the phone’s camera at our ducklings. They happily quacked and dashed around my feet. Everything was back to normal.

The baby on my hip began to fuss, so I ran back inside, into the basement where everyone was gathered. About ten or fifteen minutes passed.

Hmm…I wonder if the turkey is done cooking. I better go check on that, I mused.

Still clutching the baby, I bounded up the stairs and walked into the kitchen. The smell of turkey pervaded the air, but something else caught my attention: Through the kitchen windows, I could see that it was completely dark outside. Although it was only around 6 p.m., it could have been midnight.

“I need to put the ducks up!” I cried. I dashed back downstairs and thrust the baby in my husband’s arms. I bounded back up the stairs and out the back door, expecting to see four happy ducks sitting by the garage, patiently waiting to be put inside.  

The backyard was empty.

“Ducks? Ducks?” My eyes darted around the yard, peering through the darkness. I ran towards the shrubbery. Maybe they hid in the bushes or trees.

“DUCKLINGS! DUCKS!” I screamed.

I wasn’t expecting the ducks to respond to my voice, but the evening was warm and neighbors had their windows open. Perhaps, if someone heard my screams, he or she would wave a hand with a friendly, “Oh, a group of ducks just walked into my yard.”

 All I heard was the sound of barking dogs. Did every nearby house have a dog in the backyard? So many barking dogs echoing on that Christmas evening.

Terror filled my heard. I dashed back into the house, down to the basement, and breathlessly exclaimed: “The ducks are gone! Everyone, help!”

Moments later, I was running down the street, across the street, in various yards. Clutching my child’s hand and speaking words of reassurance, but feeling terror grip my heart.

2025, the Year of Hope. Just another awful event to add to the year. First, there were wildfires in Los Angeles, then there was the Wichita flight crash, and now on top of everything, I LOST OUR DUCKS ON CHRISTMAS!

There were no ducks to be found.

We were near the corner of the street, and I glanced at it warily. Perhaps we should just round the corner and look a little more.

I dashed into the yard of the house on the corner, yelling, calling out for our ducks. Nothing.

I peered into the neighbor’s bushes. Nothing.

I was on the brink of knocking on that neighbor’s door and asking them if they, or any of their several kids, had seen our ducks, when I looked further down this street and saw something: a small head bobbing in a front yard. Another head bobbing! As I ran over, I counted: Four. Four small heads bobbing. All of our ducks, safe and sound, happily quacking and enjoying the warm evening.

 Relief washed over me, followed by exhaustion.

We locked the ducks in the garage for the night and enjoyed our Christmas dinner. When talking to different relatives on the phone, I recounted the story of the evening.

…and then, I ran around the backyard and I couldn’t see them, and all I could hear were darking bogs in the surrounding yards!

I gasped, breathless and flustered.

Everyone at the table erupted in laughter.

And so, this became the Christmas of the Darking Bogs. 

Enjoying some backyard playtime during Christmas travels!

I thanked God profusely for this miraculous recovery of our ducks. When I considered how they journeyed around the corner, onto a slightly busier street, without getting hit by a car, without getting attacked by a dog, and that none of them had fallen or gotten injured in any way, the entire incident seemed so incredibly miraculous. Thank You, God, I said over and over and over again. Our ducks were safe, and all was well.

For now.

The next morning, my husband rushed to a feed store to buy supplements for our ducks, in case a nutritional depletion had led to Medli’s fall during our drive the previous day.

I opened the garage door and lifted the ducks out of their brooder. One by one, they rushed into the yard, flapping their wings. Medli ran forward, fell down, and stiffened. My heart broke open and enlarged. I had never considered myself an “animal lover,” but this duck had just unlocked a place in my heart that I didn’t know existed.

“Oh my sweet Medli,” I murmured, scooping her into my arms. I knelt on the ground, holding her trembling, stiff body in my lap. Is she going to die right now, in my arms?

A drop of moisture—a tear? Could ducks even cry?—rolled from the corner of her eye and down her cheek. My own eyes began to well up with tears. “Please, don’t die,” I whispered.

A few moments passed. She rustled her feathers and clambered out of my arms and into the yard. I continued to check on her throughout the day, and although she didn’t fall or succumb to anymore seizures, I noted that she was slower on her feet, a bit unsteady. I eagerly grabbed the supplement my husband purchased and poured it into her water, but only after a long time did she drink.

 The next morning, I lifted the ducks out of their brooder. One by one, they rushed into the yard happily. Medli ran forward, fell down, and stiffened. Again. I cradled her trembling body and unashamedly cried as I knelt there, alone with the seizure-prone duck. When the rest of the family woke up, I tearfully informed the kids that Medli was not yet getting better. Let’s just try to really enjoy the time we have with her, I told them.

And we did.

The remarkably warm weather offered ideal conditions for us to enjoy our potentially-dying duck. We spent hours in the backyard, chasing the ducks, watching the ducks, singing to the ducks. Neighbor kids came over and played with my kids and the ducks. One of my longtime friends came over and stood with me chatting as the ducks played at our feet. In spite of my worry and anxiety over our duck’s future, this Christmas was beautiful and joyous.

The next morning, we released the ducks into the backyard—and none of them fell over. A glimmer of hope shone in my heart. Would things get better? We drove home later that day, and when one of my kids announced that Medli had fallen over, she managed to hop back onto her feet before we could even pull off the highway to take care of her. I grinned, delighted at this improvement.

We finally got home and stuck the ducks in the garage, in their brooder. My husband, tired from our travels and all the driving he did, lay down to rest. One of my kids started setting up a game I could play with him, and I cuddled the baby.

Thump! The sudden noise drew our eyes to the garage. One of my kids dashed to the garage and peeked in.

“Three ducks jumped out of the brooder and Medli fell over!”

I thrust down the baby and ran in. Sure enough, three ducks were playing in a corner of the garage, and Medli was lying on her back, her body twitching slightly in a seizure. Just when I thought things were getting better! I grabbed our seizure-duck and held her close as I opened the garage door and tried to herd the other ducks outside. I hollered for one of my kids to come and help. In my haste to scoot 3 ducks outside while still holding a seizure-duck, I accidentally sliced my toe open on a nearby piece of metal that was waiting to be added to the duck housing in the backyard. The duck scrambled out of my arms and I ran with the ducks, guiding them to the backyard as blood spurted from my toe and onto the duck-poop filled grass.

Later that night, my toe bandaged and the children asleep and the ducks resting in their garage brooders—my husband had the wisdom to place Medli in her own, separate bin—I stood in the kitchen and tried to find answers online. I could not discover any advice, but I marked down veterinarian recommendations from a couple local friends. 

Suddenly, I heard flapping.

I ran into the garage and our duck was in the throes of another seizure: this time, she was spinning and her head had gotten stuck in the waterer and her wings were flapping rapidly. My heart fell as I gently released her head and held her close until the seizure soon passed. Things did not look good for our little duck.

The next morning, I woke up determined to make an appointment for our duck. Vet A had been highly recommended to me, so I called as soon as the office was supposed to be open. There was no answer, and the voice mail said that our office doesn’t have a voice mail box, so keep calling back during our office hours. I waited ten or fifteen minutes and called again. No answer. I called again. Nothing. I began calling other veterinarian offices. One: We don’t see ducks, try calling Vet B. I called Vet B and explained our situation. The receptionist listened, then left the phone and returned to say:

It sounds like there’s nothing we can do except euthanize. The only person who might be able to do something different is Vet A. So call us if you need to make an appointment for euthanizing.

I choked back sobs. Nothing? This vet, who had incredible reviews online, could do nothing except euthanize my poor duck who hadn’t even been examined?

Wearily, I glanced at the clock and hopped in the car to pick up milk from a local farmer, one of the people who had recommended Vet A to me. I explained the situation to her and she was aghast. She offered to help call around, to try and find someone who could help us.

I returned home and called another veterinarian. We don’t see ducks. I called another: Our avian vet doesn’t come in until tomorrow. I explained the situation and that I really needed an appointment urgently. In that case, try calling Vet B. Vet B is FANTASTIC!

Vet B told me the only thing they could do is euthanize, and I want to get a second opinion.

Silence.

Okay, gotcha, that makes sense. Good luck with your duck.

I stared blankly at the computer screen. Were there any other veterinarians I could try calling? I looked at the webpage for one that was further out, in a more rural area. Perhaps they could see a duck?

“Do you want to go to daily Mass?” My husband asked.

“Sure,” I responded. It’s not like we were going to be sitting at a veterinarian office, so going to Mass was the best thing we could do. As children began scurrying around, preparing to leave for Mass, I decided to try contacting Vet A just one more time—not like anything would happen, but at least I could try.

The phone rang.

 “Hello, how can I help you?”

My jaw dropped. I could not believe that someone had actually answered. I quickly explained the situation.

“Hmm…I don’t know what we can do, but you should definitely bring her in.”

Hope danced in front of my eyes. Even if this office couldn’t save our duck, they were willing to try.

Later that afternoon, I bid our duck farewell as my husband took our big kids to the vet. I may never see her again, I thought, as I cried and prepared to head to the doctor to get my toe—just to be on the safe side—checked out.

Hours passed. Finally, I was sitting on the couch when I saw my husband back our minivan into the driveway. One of my kids dashed out and raced to the front door, grinning widely.

Was our duck somehow still alive? Was she even well?

I walked outside and saw my husband placing our duck in the garage. I started to cry all over again, this time in gratitude and disbelief.

At some point in January, we got some snow and
watching our ducks play in it was so much fun!

As I type right now, several weeks after the Christmastime saga, I look outside to see all four of our ducks swimming happily. Medli has not had a single seizure since she was examined by the veterinarian. I had felt nervous as she gradually weaned off her two prescription medications, but so far, she has not had any health concerns. Even if she were to collapse in a seizure at this point and not recover, we did what we could.

This experience has been yet another miracle and a tremendous gift from God. Not only were we finally able to contact Vet A—most likely the only veterinarian who could help our duck heal—but our duck’s improvement was tremendous. Furthermore, but we were showed in so much love and support from other people who reminded us that just as God cares about the sparrows, He cares for our ducks. Medli is probably the most prayed-for duck on this planet!

I’ve read that ducks are “easier” than chickens, that they are more disease-resistant than chickens, that they are a simpler entry-point than chickens. I’m pretty sure that anyone who tells you those things is trying to sell you something; namely, ducks ;)

Our family has only owned ducks for just over four months, and this experience has not necessarily been easy, effortless, or simple. It has been a rollercoaster of emotions and involved challenges I hadn’t expected to encounter so early on. However, this time has been so good for our family. No matter how long these ducks are alive and quacking, we are thoroughly enjoying them. Furthermore, they are truly a visible reminder of God’s providence and miracles.