Who you gonna call?

Apparently, me.

If you're a parent, you know the sinking feeling that comes from realizing you've missed a call from the kids' school. All the worst-case scenarios start a carousel in your head. Is my child hurt? What did he do? Is everything ok?

Monday, when I missed a call from our younger son's school, I called back immediately, fearing the worst. "Hi, Kelly, uhhhhh, we have a baby duck here, and we aren't sure what to do with it. We didn't know who else to call because Animal Control said they won't come for a single duckling."

Well, that was unexpected.

I headed over to the school, thinking that in the age where the avian flu is taking out flocks all over the country, I would likely have to pretend like I would bring it home and then would have to cull it. The situation needed further assessment.

It seemed likely to be a grim errand. That said, it's nice now to be the “Mom called for a duck emergency.” It's a drastic shift in identity, and ultimately I appreciate I am known as the person who knows what to do in these situations.

When I got to the school, I was greeted by a shivering, peeping, but otherwise healthy-looking mallard duckling, pecking around the front planter at the school, looking for its Mom. I went in first to get more information on the bird before deciding what to do.

The mother mallard had decided to nest and lay her eggs a few feet from the front door of the preschool, which seemed like a high-risk homebuilding situation. Maybe because of the constant harassment of toddlers, she jetted with her offspring as soon as the eggs hatched. I can't blame her. One hundred or more little human kids with grabby toddler hands passing by just a few feet away from a brood of baby ducks every day was sure to be problematic. She made the correct call.

The little duck left behind made it out of its egg just a day late. He missed the bus.

I asked the school administrators, who had kept a fairly close eye on the mamma duck before she left, if they noticed any coughing or anything else off about her, they hadn't.

I've had clutches of eggs where almost all hatched at once, but I always leave the few unhatched eggs in the incubator for an extra day because the occasional straggler will pop out later. That was obviously what happened here.

The school gave me a filing box, so I grabbed the little duck, still undecided about what to do with him. He still had his egg tooth, was brand new, and seemed healthy but wouldn't last long without some intervention.

After some research, I learned that avian flu isn't passed to offspring in the egg. It's only passed through direct contact with an infected bird. So, I decided that we would institute biosecurity measures for the rest of our flock, but would raise the duckling as we had many before him.

Mallards are great ducks because they are both ideal wild and domestic birds. My first flock of ducks was all mallards, and I loved each of them.

I called a neighbor who I knew also had ducks and asked if she had any duckling starter on hand. It's a high-protein crumble meal that would fix this little straggler right up. She did. So I stopped by her house and grabbed a Ziploc baggie of duckie food, and set up a brooder for the newest flock member.

Having neighbors and friends who share your weird hobbies is both valuable and fun.

Because we don't have any other babies (chickens or ducks) going right now, we are washing our hands and changing our shoes every time we go out to the rest of the flock, but this little guy is a loner. Baby ducks imprint on their moms as soon as they come out of the egg; since I was the first thing he saw when he came out, I (and our family) are his "Mom." He's a people duck.

I know, by the way, how to sex day-old ducks from YouTube. It's a weird skill I didn't have a few years ago, but have many of those now. If I reflect on the constant learning needed to function in this new world of urban farming, and I'm almost a totally different person. I wonder if "waterfowl sexing" is a line item I should add to the ol' resume.

Maybe it does make sense that I'm now the "Mom to call in a baby duck emergency" - I'm ok with that. I’ll even do my afternoon work while a baby duck is asleep, nestled on my shoulder.

It only took a day for the duck to figure out how to join the family. The secret to acceptance was to get an in with my husband. It took the little guy less than 30 seconds to realize that my husband's fuzzy chest was nest-like. He became an expert nuzzler within minutes.

Over the years, I have learned we’re much more likely to get to keep animals long-term if my husband names them. I'm not sure if it's because he feels invested or just because he declines to name the animals he doesn't already like, but either way, I pushed him to name this little boy.

He came up with, and I am not joking about this, "Quackington Waggle Booty" and "Grif" for short. Ok.

So, Grif has joined the family.

Our professionally-trained duck hunting dog is so upset. He just stares at us holding the baby duck like a jilted lover forced to watch his girlfriend date someone else. I didn't know a labrador would effectively convey both fury and hurt without a command of language, but he's got it nailed.

I knew, however, that Grif was a part of the family when my husband came home from grocery shopping yesterday with a special small container in hand. Upon inspection, I realized it was a small tupperware full of fishing worms. My husband is going to teach Grif how to hunt for bugs. Perfection.

Grif now loves us all, but Dad most of all. If only he knew how many of his duckie cousins his duck-hunting Dad has dispatched over the years, he might be wary of snuggling - but he's part of the family now. Watching my husband teach him to hunt bugs for himself feels full circle.

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Thanks for reading! I’m a little off schedule this week because I gave a speech on Thursday to the Colorado Livestock Association! It was so great to talk to ranchers and feeders. I am so excited as these projects keep evolving!

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<3,

K