I rescued a duckling with my apron

And that was only the beginning...

Hello, I’m Molly and I write about my slow and simple life in the Scottish Highlands. Please subscribe to support my work and if you want to read more of my stories. You can also find me on YouTube and shop my Slow Scottish Store and sustainable Teemill Clothing.

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Years of working as a wildlife conservationist has tuned me into the distress call of an animal.

On this occasion, an afternoon in late June, it was a mallard duck. A female. And it was close.

I launched myself off the sofa and peered out of the French doors of our Tiny Home. There she was. Mere metres from our home. And she wasn’t alone. Crowding around her were eight tiny ducklings.

The reason for her distress became clear. She had clocked our family’s one year old Labrador, Oscar, who was obliviously sunbathing in the garden. She was now stranded.

I was out of our Tiny House like a shot and easily persuaded Oscar inside with a biscuit.

But alas, the issue was not resolved. Mama duck was trying to lead her ducking’s to the lochan down the hill from our garden, but couldn’t manoeuvre through the wire fence that we had erected when getting the aforementioned Labrador, who was rather fond of escaping.

This wouldn’t do. After making sure all the dogs were in, I quickly tied my hair up and hurried down to the bottom of the garden.

Mama duck was understandably not impressed with my close proximity to her ducklings. She quaked, flapped and hissed as I fumbled with the fence, before I was able to lift it off the ground just enough for them to squeeze through. Which they did, thankfully.

That was duck drama number one.

A couple of weeks later, my partner’s mother knocked on our door. Apparently, there was another mama duck in distress.

I flew out of our Tiny Home, still in my apron, and peered through the fence that adjoined with our neighbour’s garden. I could see mama with her ducklings, perched on the flowerbed dug into their brick wall. At first, I couldn’t decipher the reason for her frantic calling. Then I noticed the cheeping was coming from further down. One of the ducklings had evidently fallen off the wall and become separated from their mother.

Although this was not our garden, I was all set to climb the fence with the intention of reuniting this lost duckling. Thankfully, the commotion had caught the attention of our neighbour. After a quick explanation and a offer of help, I was charging round the corner, still in my apron, determined to help this wee soul.

Ducklings are surprisingly fast. I knew this from experience. I had to work quickly, so without hesitation, I had untied my apron and thrown it over the duckling as gently as I could.

The duckling was scooped up and returned to its family, before they waddled away back to their lochan home.

That was duck drama number two.

Quite unbelievably, the biggest drama was to happen the very next day.

I was out earlier than usual with Skye, keen to miss the stormy weather were was due imminently. The thunder started to roll in as we were cutting our way back home via the lochan, when we startled a female mallard and her half-grown ducklings.

We waited at a respectful distance as she chivvied her family to safety. Just as we were about to set off again, I was startled by another duckling appearing. This was a problem.

Clearly much younger, maybe only a day old, this duckling didn’t belong to the mama duck we had just flushed. Her calling must have brought it out from hiding.

Its fairly common for ducklings to get separated from their mother’s as they venture from their nest to the nearest water.

Now we had a lost duckling, an impatient dog and a storm that was getting closer by the minute. As the heavens opened, I really only had one choice.

Skye was tied to the nearest bench, where she’d have some shelter from the rain, and I followed this duckling. Vainly hoping that it actually knew where its mother was. By the time I’d gotten to it, it had jumped into the lochan and was frantically swimming out to the other family unit we had flushed.

But this mama has no intention of taking in this lost duckling.

My heart in my mouth, I watched as this family battered this tiny duckling. Their message was clear. It was not welcome. Feeling helpless, I debated how far I could safely wade into to surprisingly deep lochan.

I only had one chance. The duck family were driving this one closer to shore. I was poised in the frozen posture of a heron. Stress thrumming through me. And it one swift movement, I plunged my hand into the cold water and, to my utmost relief, emerged with the duckling safely enclosed in my curled fingers.

That is where is stayed for the 8 minute walk home.

I feel it speaks volumes that my partner was not at all surprised when I returned soaking wet, mud splattered up my leggings, clutching a tiny duckling to my chest.

We named her Florence, without knowing whether it was a ‘her’. We kept her warm, tucked up in a soft hand-towel, perched on a pink fleecy hot water bottle inside a make-shift box. That was her home for two hours before the SSPCA officer arrived. Florence would never survive by herself now so she was going to be raised amongst other lost ducklings, before being returned to the wild.

My life has always been closely woven with animals. I feel their hurt and distress in my very core. I can’t remember a time when I didn’t feel the need to help.

Working as a conservationist has only opened my eyes to the seemingly unsurmountable challenge we face in preserving our vulnerable wildlife.

My actions this summer may not change the entire world. But it changed the world for these ducklings.

These tiny acts of kindness, whether it be offering a flower to an exhausted bumblebee, ensuring a bird feeder remains well-stocked or chaperoning a toad across a road, do make a difference.

As Gandhi says -

Be the change you wish to see in the world.

It is my intention to do just that.

Until next week,

Molly xx