hooded merganser

hooded merganser

with wounded wings flees from my

inept rescue attempts

This story begins and ends with a small white feather. I find the first one lying on golden pine needles, then a few more scattered along the path through tall pines on the west side of Pleasant Lake. Seeing so many feathers, I surmise that some bird ran afoul of a four-legged predator.
          After I cross a little wooden foot bridge, I catch sight of movement in the bushes, some kind of brown bird, awkwardly thrashing through the undergrowth. At first I think it must be a baby that can't fly yet, but it is rather large. The bird keeps flopping and falling over, and when I get a clear view I see that it can't fly because its wings are broken, the left wing ragged and bent forward, the right wing nearly torn from the bird's body.
          The bird has a striking crest of cinnamon feathers on top of the head like an open fan, a long, pointed black beak, round golden eyes, black feet and a short tail. Her plain brown color suggests that she is a female, but I've never seen a bird like this. Later, my birder friend identifies the bird as a female Hooded Merganser, a small duck native to North America. Short-distance migrants, they move north in the spring as the weather warms up. Mergansers are monogamous and this female probably has a mate and a nest, though hopefully containing only eggs, not babies.
          As I continue to follow the mysterious bird through the brush, the frantic duck, driven by fear, rolls down the muddy bank of the stream, falls into the shallow water, and flounders with her head sinking under, unable to right herself. Afraid that she will drown, I rush over, lift her up by her feet and place her on the bridge. She just lies there quietly, the raw red wound of the torn wing painfully obvious. 
          What to do? In a flash, I remember the Bird Lady at Morningstar Farm who rehabilitates raptors. Years ago I brought two redheaded woodpeckers to her after I found them on the highway. The one with the broken wing survived and the Bird Lady was able to release it, but the one with the broken leg had been down too long. I feel a surge of hope that this duck, injured recently, might be rescued. But how to get the bird to her? 
          I'm afraid to just pick her up because she will struggle out of my hands. I figure I'll wrap the bird in my jacket for protection. But as I start to take it off, the duck flops off the bridge into the stream and disappears under the bridge. Now what?
          We play hide and seek for awhile, the duck popping out on the opposite side of the bridge from where I'm peering. Finally, I withdraw up the path for awhile. When I sneak back, she is huddled on the path on the far side of the bridge. When she sees me, she starts hobbling away into the brush and down the creek. I give up trying to chase her, feeling helpless to help her. 
          But I walk away feeling guilty that I didn't do enough to aid a living creature in distress. Her chances of survival are pretty slim. She's in shock from the wound, she can't fly and she can't dive for food. After I'm far from the bridge, it occurs to me that perhaps the humane thing to do would be to put her out of her misery. But I can't bring myself to do that.
          The next day I return with a towel and a box, but the only evidence I find of the Hooded Merganser is one small white feather on the bank of the stream.
          My wise friend says that the mind holds onto guilt, whereas the light of love just wants to enter through the back door of the heart and flood it with forgiveness. It will take some time, she says, so just stay open.