Lessons from Lefty

It was eight years ago. We were sitting on the dock on a perfect, late-summer day. A ripple on the still water caught my eye. I watched, transfixed as something approached us along the perimeter of the lake. It was a duck.

There is nothing unusual about a black duck on a Maine lake. But this was no ordinary duck, we would soon discover.

Like any duck, he was easily seduced by the snacks we tossed onto the water's surface. Like mischievous children, we enticed him to come closer with a trail of crumbs. In no time, he was up on the dock.

It was then we saw that he had only one foot.

A flood of thoughts and emotions accompanies the discovery that a creature is compromised. Ours started with pity and concern for how he managed. Then we wondered how he lost that foot. But ultimately, we marveled at his adaptive abilities. That's when we named him "Lefty, the Cull Duck."

I'm no ornithologist. I can't say with any authority if ducks have feelings or personalities. But, to me, Lefty appeared to be a well-adjusted duck. He seem unconcerned about what he was missing. In fact, he managed as if his condition were normal.

I wish more people shared Lefty's spunk. Why dwell on life's trials? Best to adapt to what life throws our way and get on with it. Some might see that as the rantings of an optimist; but I don't see any other choice.

So I thought of Lefty the other day when I slipped on the ice and fractured my wrist. After a quick stop at the pity station to mourn the quilting I won't be doing for awhile, I'm determined to do that adaptable, normalizing thing Lefty did -- I hope to be ambidextrous by the time the cast comes off.

Isn't it amazing what you can learn from a duck?


Copyright Starfishdoc 2009