08/30/2026
THIS MADE ME CRY. It’s is so well written. PLEASE DO NOT DUMP DOMESTIC DUCKS! CALL US FOR HELP! 816-427-1191
𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗡𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 𝗪𝗲 𝗕𝗲𝗰𝗮𝗺𝗲 𝗦𝗶𝘁𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗗𝘂𝗰𝗸𝘀
We remember the first day we went home.
We were small then. So small we could fit in the palms of the hands that carried us.
There were so many of us at the feed store. Little yellow and white bundles of feathers, peeping and stumbling over one another beneath the warm lights.
We didn't know what a feed store was.
We didn't know what a family was.
We only knew that when someone reached into the brooder and picked us up, we were going somewhere.
We were going home.
And home was wonderful.
There were voices that called our names. Hands that scratched our heads. People who brought us food and water and laughed when we followed them around.
We followed them everywhere.
We learned their footsteps. We knew their voices. We knew someone was coming just by the sound of the door opening.
We loved them.
We trusted them.
We grew.
Our little yellow bodies became big white bodies. Our feet got bigger. Our appetites got bigger.
And so did our messes.
At first, everyone laughed.
Then, slowly, the laughter stopped.
We began hearing things we didn't understand.
“They p**p too much.”
“They're so much work.”
“I don't have time for this anymore.”
We didn't know what “too much work” meant.
We only knew we were still the same ducks.
We still came running when we heard their voices.
We still loved them.
But they spent less time with us.
Then less.
And less.
Sometimes we stood waiting for someone to come, watching the door for so long that the sun moved across the sky.
Still, we waited.
Because that's what you do when you love someone.
You wait for them.
Then one night, they put us in a car.
We weren't afraid.
The car meant we were going somewhere.
Maybe somewhere fun.
We trusted them.
The road went on and on.
Then the car stopped.
It was dark.
Not the kind of dark we knew from nighttime at home.
There were no porch lights. No familiar voices. No house.
Only trees. Brush. A road stretching into the darkness.
The door opened.
Hands reached for us.
And then—
We were flying.
Not flying the way birds fly.
We couldn't fly.
We were thrown.
Our bodies hit the ground hard.
For a moment, we didn't understand what had happened.
We looked toward the car.
The lights were still on.
The door closed.
The car began to move.
We watched it disappear.
And we waited for our family to come back.
We pressed ourselves against one another.
We had never been here before.
We had never been outside at night.
We had never been alone.
We were domestic ducks. Pekins. Raised by people.
We didn't know where to find food.
We didn't know where it was safe to sleep.
We didn't know what lived in the darkness.
But the darkness knew us.
We heard movement in the brush.
Something rustled through the leaves.
Something cried out.
Something was eating.
We froze.
We pressed closer together.
And suddenly, we understood.
We were next.
Humans have a phrase:
“Sitting duck.”
We never understood it before.
Now we did.
We couldn't fly away.
We couldn't run fast enough.
We couldn't climb a tree.
We had nowhere to go.
So we stayed together.
The only thing we had left was each other.
Then, through the darkness, we saw lights.
They grew brighter.
Closer.
We froze.
And for just a moment, something inside us hoped.
Maybe it was our family.
Maybe they had realized their mistake.
Maybe they had come back.
We had been good ducks.
We had loved them.
We had followed them.
We had trusted them.
Surely they hadn't really meant to leave us here.
The lights came closer.
A car slowed.
Then stopped.
A woman stepped out.
She wasn't our family.
But she saw us.
Two white ducks, terrified on the side of a dark highway, surrounded by woods and brush.
She knew something was wrong.
She didn't drive past.
She didn't leave us there.
She knew we didn't belong on that road.
She knew we couldn't survive there.
And once again, we were inside a car.
We didn't know where we were going.
But we knew it was better than the darkness.
We heard her making phone calls.
She was looking for something called a rescue.
We still don't know where we're going.
We still don't know what happens next.
But for the first time since that car disappeared into the darkness...
We're not alone.
We're together.
We're safe.
And we're going somewhere where someone will care for us.
Maybe someday we'll understand that the person who brought us home from the feed store didn't get to decide whether we were worth saving.
Because someone else did.
A stranger saw us.
A stranger stopped.
A stranger cared.
And tonight, that's enough.
Tonight, we're no longer sitting ducks on the side of a dark highway.
And today...
We're going home.
