A Small Act of Heroism

The word “hero” has been used so much lately that I think it has lost some of its luster. So I’m a little reluctant to call the recent actions of my dog Tess and me heroic. But we did do what we could to relieve suffering of a fellow creature. And we did it without seeking any reward other than a feeling of joy—and maybe a little bemusement.

Here are the details.

Tess and I were taking a morning walk starting from our vacation home in the Berkshires toward a nearby lake. As we approached the lake, we saw a large group of young ducks milling about on the grass, which lay between two barriers—a metal fence that separated the road from the grass and a plastic slatted and gated fence that separated the grass from a small beach and the lake.

The ducks had gathered in this grassy area beside the lake

The ducks were noisily enjoying themselves pecking at the grass and at each other when something caused them to spook. It might have been Tess’s and my approach, though we were trying to be very quiet and had no intention of barging in on the ducks. In any case, the entire flock began panicking and fleeing. I think they must have been young ducks and perhaps couldn’t fly yet. (What do I know about duck development?) But all of the ducks found their way through a small opening beneath one of the gates in the plastic fence and raced into the water. All of the ducks except one.

The lone straggler must not have been paying attention as the other ducks escaped, and he couldn’t figure out how they had gotten beyond the fence. Tess and I watched as he walked along the slatted fence with increasing desperation, sticking his head into each slatted area and realizing that he couldn’t slip through.

Now, Tess has been in the same situation as the duck many times during our visits to the lake, and she has learned the secret of getting by the fence if she can’t get under it. She simply walks to the end of the fence and slips through an opening in bushes that border it. Simple for a determined dog and presumably simple for a duck too. But not our duck, who continued to pace back and forth like one of those fathers awaiting the birth of a baby in an old movie. And he was getting more desperate as he paced.

Tess might have been thinking it, and I called out to the duck to just keep going to the end of the fence. But neither of us could get through to the duck. At last, we decided to take matters into our own hands. We opened the first gate and walked across the grass toward the duck, who, not surprisingly, was nervous about seeing a dog and a human approaching. But we said some soothing words and proceeded right to a gate in the fence and opened it. Our duck scampered right through and into the lake. It might be my imagination, but I think the other ducks were laughing at their flock mate as he swam toward them.

Later, I told my daughter Amanda about our adventure, and she suggested that Tess and I were heroes. I blushed a little, but secretly I was pleased. We also decided to give our rescued duck a name. The consensus of those who heard the tale (and I shared it with lots of people) was to name him “Lucky,” as in “Lucky Duck.”

Now, this story should end here. But it doesn’t. Amazingly, on our morning walk two days later, we saw almost the same thing happen. One duck found himself all alone on the grassy area without any idea of how to reach the water where the rest of the flock were swimming joyfully. Could this really be Lucky again? This time, Tess and I didn’t hesitate. We walked right up to the fence, opened the gate, and watched the duck scamper through. So Tess and I had responded to another creature’s need and had come through again. Were we double heroes? We couldn’t be sure. But we did have a new name for our rescued duck — we called him “Dumb Luck.”

Lucky swims all by himself the next morning

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