“You make darkness, and it is night, in which all the beasts of the forest creep about. The predators roar after their prey, and seek their food from God.”
Psalms 104:20-21
Early in the morning I sat at the window watching the two surviving ducks forage at the lake’s edge. Just the day before there had been one duck. Out in the field sat the second duck, undoubtedly sitting on eggs that would never hatch. In contrast to the white of her feathers, before her sat a black crow. The crow stared and the duck hunkered down. I’m thinking the crow was waiting for the eggs that would never hatch. Eventually, the duck from the lake waddled over and the crow flew away. The next day the two ducks foraged at the edge of the lake.
Seeing the two caused me to think of the six that once made their home on the Prairie lake. I pride myself in the longevity of my pets. However, Pekin ducks are particularly hard to protect through the dark, lonely night of the Prairie, where coyotes howl and owls with their all-seeing eyes swoop down through the fields.
Leah, the last of the original Pekin ducks, disappeared a few months ago. It was so sad I could hardly speak of it. She was the one with the weak eye. She had previously lost her two companions and, for a while, she called out mournfully. We grieved together.
I spent a lot of time with her, and she often made me laugh. There was the time she took up with a gaggle of geese who eventually flew away while she remained earthbound. Then there was the lonely old coot. She buddied up with him until he flew the coup. So as I promised, I raised her two more Pekin, the ones foraging on the lake.
The day Leah disappeared Sam and I were standing on the dock with two friends. I noticed Leah was nowhere in sight. A sick feeling began in the pit of my stomach. Then I saw Sam scanning the horizon with a puzzled look. I knew he was looking for Leah. I prayed that he wouldn’t say anything in front of the guests. I didn’t want to collapse in front of them.
“I don’t see Leah,” Sam said, looking at me.
I told myself to breathe. “I bet she’s out in the field on a nest. You know she does that. We’ll look for her later.”
Sam nodded, not entirely convinced.
Leah was not on a nest and was not ever on the lake again. I was not at all pleased with the two remaining ducks, because they never grieved.
After work one day, Sam greeted me as usual, then quietly said, “I found Leah today, and I buried her.”
As my tears poured forth he continued. “I didn’t know whether to tell you or not. Maybe it brings some closure.”
Four of my six beautiful white ducks have given way to the howls and screeches of the Prairie night. It is the way of the Prairie at night.
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