…and a bag of live ducks, please. Not.

Found this picture on the National Geographic Magazine website.

Yep, that’s live ducks. Crammed into a plastic bag – for ‘easy transport’.


A couple of years ago my dad found two tiny little baby ducks paddling in our pool. We could hear the mother calling them from the woods next to our house, but she wouldn’t come out. When it got dark, we gave up the search for her and I looked after the two little ones overnight. They kept trying to communicate with their reflections in my wardrobe mirror and I had to lay streets of loo roll all across my room because they shat everywhere. They kept me awake quacking in their little box next to my bed all night, and when I finally gave in and took them out at dawn, they fell asleep in my hands, nibbling at my fingers in their sleep. In the morning they had a bath in my grandparents’ rainwater fountain. When we took them to the river to set them free, they wriggled out of my hands, plunged into the water and swam off with another duck mother and her chicks. I sat at the river bank crying for hours.

Maybe I’ll just add the bag of ducks to my list of reasons for being a vegetarian. Because, frankly, I’m sick of people ridiculing me for not eating meat anymore because of the squirrel kebabs.

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