Devastation/Restoration

I awoke to a frantic crash: the duck had, apparently, emerged from her private hiding place and stumbled either upon the cat, or upon the boys' Playmobil, or something. It was a terrific noise in the silence, and as I staggered up to let the panicked duck escape the confines of our little house, she was so scared she hissed at me, and briefly attacked my leg.

I managed to get the door open finally, and the Mallard flew-fell to the ground. She sought sanctuary immediately in the electric-net protected laying house, quacking loudly all the way. She called her friend; her friend could not reply.

Half an hour later or so, I heard a sudden rumpus among the birds, and I came out to find the predator dog back on our land, but no birds in her mouth. The dog yet lives, an unpredictable threat.

But the mallard had gone missing. For an hour, Isaiah and I searched all the hideouts we could imagine, high and low, protected and open. She was gone. Missing in action, presumed dead.

We realized, too, that the Barred Rock, who had finally (!) started to lay eggs last week, was also gone. I found a feather. Recent? Who knows. Perhaps she was carried away on Sunday.

As the realization that his pride and joy, the Mallard, was gone, Isaiah's broken-heart was horrible to see. Made so much more poignant by the beautiful daylight that now settled on his shoulders and head, the first sunny, warm day in a week.

"Why did you let her out?" he asked me. And I had no real explanation, other than that she wanted to find her friend, to get out of the unnatural house environment and eat, poop, lay in her normal places.

How can it be that such a simple action as opening the door can lead to such devastation?

How can one mother bear up under the grief of her son?

***

That was a bad time. Certainly one of the worst hours of my life.

Abraham, on hearing the news, said, "Well, may the Lord help her to be safe." Oh, to have the faith of a child!

Phil and I talked through the events of the morning. I wanted some resolution, but that isn't always possible.

We walked over to the layer house. And there was the duck, where we had looked so many times before, huddled down, very much alive and not dog fodder.

I went to get Isaiah. I didn't tell him why, but he came with me, and so I saw his sad, tragic face lighten in a quiet smile as he saw her again.

Phil and he agreed that she should come back inside. They caught her and brought her in, Isaiah again faithfully cleaning her messes. She stood on his hands in the sunlight, feathers gleaming.

All was well. Restoration; Abraham's answered prayers; beloved pet recovered from the jaws of death.


***

For a few hours.

The Mallard had been spot-bleeding even yet. I watched her poop a great puddle of white liquid. She was not doing well.

And then Isaiah came, sad-faced again. "The Mallard died."

Whether from a broken-heart, companionless; whether from internal injuries; whether the loss of a friend made her lose her desire to live, the Mallard was, indeed, dead.

But what a difference than a traumatic loss to a dog. She has a permanent place on the farm, buried next to Chloe. Isaiah and I put daffodils on her grave, put a Sharpied headstone at her head. Rather than the unrestrained grief of the morning, this was simply deep sadness.

When my heart is overwhelmed, hear my cry, give heed to my prayer.
And my eyes are dim with tears, oh, Father, make them clear.
From the ends of all the earth, when my heart is fainting
Let me know that you have heard, and lead me into safety.

Lead me to the Rock, the Rock that's higher,
Lead me to the Rock that's higher than I,
Lead me to the Rock, the Rock that's higher,
Higher than I.

You, oh Lord, have been to me a refuge from my enemies.
Let me live within your strength, in the shelter of your wings.