Shannon and I discovered a small duckling on our back porch this evening. It's right leg seemed to be broken and, despite our efforts to find the mother, appeared to be all alone. I put on a pair of gloves before handling the duckling because I was told, growing up, that mother birds reject young if they have a human scent on them; turns out this claim is false.
Shannon called animal control and the nice gentleman that showed up told us he would take it to the animal shelter to see what could be done. He was honest and admitted that they got so many birds this time of year that it stood a good chance of being put to sleep. I like to think that our duckling is still alive out there, but I know that's delusional optimism.
I have great respect for animal rehabilitators who can go through this emotional experience several times a day. To get your smile back read what rehabilitators share for laughs.
current twc: 12,109 - heavy editing and reorg of major chapters