The daily Astorian., July 27, 2018, Page 1C, Image 17

1C
THE DAILY ASTORIAN • FRIDAY, JULY 27, 2018
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LUCKY
DUCKLINGS
Newborn mallards become overnight guests before
heading to the Wildlife Center of the North Coast
to address me as “Ducky Daddy.” How
embarrassing.
“I’m not going softie,” I tell her. “Any-
body would do the same.”
“OK, Ducky Daddy.”
By RON BALDWIN
For The Daily Astorian
‘W
hat’s that?” my guests chimed
in unison as they walked out the
door .
“What’s what?” I said as I peered
through the doorway.
There, in the middle of my driveway
in Chinook, was what looked like a little
pile of dryer lint. But the pile’s quick little
moves finally gave it away as a pair of mal-
lard ducklings huddled together in the brisk,
late spring breeze.
“Oh, uh, hi there little duckies,” I said.
“Where’s yo mama?” A search of the imme-
diate area produced no adult. Within sec-
onds, a ridiculous super-
hero persona came over
me.
“We’re gonna save
the duckies!” I was feel-
ing more heroic by the
moment, but first we had
to catch them. I can just
imagine what four adults
Ron
look like from the street
Baldwin
chasing these little guys
around in the tall grass. Newborn mallards
are tiny and incredibly light, but they sure
can scurry.
“He’s going your way! Cut him off!”
“Stop you little devil!” “I got this one!”
“He’s headed for the street!” “No ya don’t
— come back here little fella!”
At last, I have them. “Hold these,” I told
my companion as I thrust two wriggling
piles of fluff into her hands.
“What do I do with them?” she asked
as the pair struggled — a blur of beeping,
squirming, fluttering, downy wings the size
of your little finger.
“Just hold on to them. I’ll get a box.”
Meanwhile, the guests bailed like refugees.
“Well, so long. Gotta go. Good luck with
your duckies.” They drove off.
The first box proved to be inadequate;
the little devils jumped right out with little
effort, and the chase was on again. Finally, I
brought out a plastic storage tote and loaded
the little guys on top of some shredded
newspaper. I placed a dish of water in the
corner, and the critters must have thought it
was a swimming pool since they dived right
in.
Overnight guests
Through the evening Scrabble game, the
ducklings kept up a semi-constant beeping,
interrupted by thumps of what sounded like
colossal leaps across the tote. For a while we
were able to direct our attention elsewhere.
The beeps lessened and the thumps stopped
altogether. The house became quiet, Sunday
night quiet.
At 2 a.m. my eyes popped open.
Totally silent. I put on my robe and stum-
bled down the stairs to check the duckies.
They’re sleeping peacefully under the wing
of the stuffed bird doll now. I sat down in
the chair next to the box and just stared at
them, transfixed. I soon found myself in that
spot between wakefulness and sleep where
things are sort of hazy. I shook it off and
returned to bed only to awaken again around
4 a.m. and go through the same routine. One
of the pair untucked its head from under its
wing and looked at me like, “What?”
With morning sunlight came soft, almost
purring beeps from the tote. Don’t tell me
they’re beginning to like it here, I say to
myself.
After several cups of coffee and some
mental handwringing, it was time to load
the tote with the now-squirming ducklings
into my old VW bus and drive to Olney,
south of Astoria, with my companion. The
ducklings’ beeps were not so shrill this
morning. At least for now they seemed less
stressed. Me, too.
At the Wildlife Center
‘Ducky Daddy’
After I rigged up a hot water bottle
with a towel, I topped it with a fuzzy Tou-
can doll. The ducks weren’t impressed, and
continued to beep, beep, beep and make
dives from the top of the bird doll, which
they managed to climb with those impossi-
bly big feet.
One given I have learned over the years:
If there’s going to be a miracle or a disaster,
it’s going to happen on the weekend when
no one is working or responsible for any-
thing. Also, just because you think you have
an emergency doesn’t mean anyone else
thinks you have an emergency.
Through a call to the Wildlife Center of
the North Coast in Olney, however, I was
pleasantly surprised to learn that they accept
animals for rescue daily, 9 a.m. to 5:30 p.m.
What this meant, though, is that I would
have to throw out everything else in my life
Ron Baldwin photos
TOP: An orphaned duckling. ABOVE: Pauline Baker, rehabilitation coordinator at
the Wildlife Center of the North Coast.
for the next 16 hours and concentrate on the
care of two small creatures I had just met.
Animal experts often recommend that
you handle orphaned animals as little as
possible, especially ducklings, since duck-
lings tend to imprint on you. In other words,
these guys could start to think I’m their
daddy — not good.
This sounds like solid advice, but you
try to resist those little beepers. They could
have charmed Godzilla. The cuteness factor
was off the charts: bright little black eyes,
pale yellow and gray striped torsos, gray-
black bill, tiny fluttering wings and big,
black feet.
By now, my companion had begun
The ride to the Wildlife Center in the
46-year-old beast suited the ducklings just
fine. The engine whine seemed to sooth
them. The beeps even sounded happy. As
we bounced along the Wildlife Center’s
long driveway, I started to realize I’ll proba-
bly never see these little guys again. I teared
up a little, but was able to hide it.
The Wildlife Center is a group of build-
ings off Oregon Route 202. I parked in
the lot, entered the office and was greeted
by Pauline Baker, the rehabilitation coor-
dinator, a friendly young gal. Her atti-
tude inspired my confidence that every-
thing would be all right for my … er … the
duckies.
“Sure, we can take them. Bring ’em on
in,” Baker said. It’s obvious from the outset
that this was the right choice — sadly, the
only choice — for these birds.
“We get lots of them every year,” she
explained. “I’ve probably got a dozen or
so out there right now.” Thousands of baby
seabirds are orphaned each year in our
region. The majority are not as lucky as
these two.
Baker cradled the birds in her hat and
thanked me, saying I did everything right
and the birds have a good chance of survival.
As I drove off, I felt my eyes start to mist
over. I am not going softie, I told myself,
sniffling. Anyone would have done the
same.
Ron Baldwin is a musician, photogra-
pher and writer living in Chinook, Wash.
‘THOUSANDS OF BABY SEABIRDS ARE ORPHANED
EACH YEAR IN OUR REGION. THE MAJORITY
ARE NOT AS LUCKY AS THESE TWO.’
‘HY