Attack on Quakken:
How We Nursed Our Duck Back From the Brink

⚠️ Warning: Graphic injury descriptions and photos ahead.
Also, I’m not a vet (but I’ve stayed at a Holiday Inn)—just a determined duck-mom with Google and a roll of gauze.

A Calm Morning Gone Very, Very Wrong

Shortly after we moved into our new home, we started small: six chickens and two ducks.
We ordered Harlequin ducklings from the hatchery, but received two fluffy yellow babies that turned out to be Pekins instead. Not what we asked for, but hey, we like surprises.

Everything was going swimmingly (pun absolutely intended). The flock grew, feathers came in, and soon we moved everyone outside. Chickens roosted up top in the coop, ducks napped underneath. Peaceful. Idyllic.

Until one morning—disaster.

TreVice went out, as usual, to let the birds out. A few minutes later, he came sprinting back yelling for me.
“One’s gone, and the other’s hurt.”

I threw on shoes and ran. The fence was peeled back. One duck—gone. The other, trembling under the coop, missing a wing.

The Scene of the Crime

Something—probably a raccoon or bobcat—had pried open the gate fencing during the night.
The chickens were safe inside the raised coop. The ducks, unfortunately, slept on the ground. Sitting ducks, literally.

The attacker must have reached through the wire; the duck had been caught by the wing and—well—cleanly removed it at the joint. It looked like a professional butchering job. Horrific, but also, in a weird way, a mercy. The bleeding had already stopped.

I remember thinking, Can ducks even go into shock? Because ours sure looked like it. No vet in town would take domestic waterfowl, so if this duck was going to make it, it was up to us.

Improvised Duck ER

I raided our medicine cabinet like a lunatic:

• bottled water + salt = DIY saline

• nitrile gloves

• non-stick bandage wrap

• bath towel

• paper towels

With TreVice holding the limp bird, I flushed the wound, cleaned away dirt and blood, and wrapped it the best I could.

<INSERT PICTURE OF RAW INJURY>

We moved the patient into a dog crate in our bathroom—our new ICU. Then the phone calls began: every vet within driving distance. Not one would even offer advice. Great.

So, we did what every modern homesteader does: turned to the internet and random strangers.

Duck Triage by Google

A neighbor who used to be a vet tech suggested chlorhexidine for cleaning.
Online forums recommended Vetericyn Plus antibacterial spray and oral antibiotics.

Off we went to the feed store. COVID-era shortages meant prices were outrageous: $30 for antibiotics, a gallon of chlorhexidine, and enough gauze to wrap a mummy. Over a hundred dollars later, we headed home.

What should’ve been a $10 duck was quickly turning into a $100 medical experiment.

The First 48 Hours

We soaked off the old bandage (a painful, swear-filled process), cleaned the wound with diluted chlorhexidine, sprayed Vetericyn Plus, re-bandaged, and hoped for the best.

That night, I honestly didn’t think the duck would survive.
We prayed and went to bed.

Morning: still alive, but limp and unresponsive. No interest in food or water.

TreVice suggested getting it some duck friends.
I shook my head—“No way! Not sanitary!”—but he persisted. The bird looked lonely, and we couldn’t get it to drink.

By Day 3, with two new brown ducklings chirping beside it, our patient lifted its head for the first time.
Then it stood.
Then it ate.

TreVice for the win.

<INSERT PHOTO OF QUAKKEN AND DUCKLINGS>

Poopy Progress

The duck’s mood improved daily. The wound looked cleaner. But our bathroom? Looked like a feathered crime scene.

Ducks are messy.
Like, Olympic-level messy. Poo on the walls, floor, shower curtain—you name it. We ended up taping trash bags halfway up the walls to contain the chaos.

Still, they were thriving. The three ducks had become inseparable, and the smell of victory (and… duck) filled the air.

The Healing Battle

Weeks passed in a blur of washing, wrapping, and antibiotics.
I learned two things:

1. You can’t give a duck antibiotics like you can a dog

2. I am not built for long-term caregiving.

Eventually I discovered a genius tip online: sprinkle antibiotic powder on canned peas (no sodium). The duck gobbled them like candy. No more wrestling match—hallelujah.

After about six weeks, the rescue group I consulted said it was safe to move our one-winged warrior back outside. The wound was closed, feathering over, and the duck was walking (well, waddling) proudly again.

But of course, this story wasn’t over.
Once back outside and off antibiotics, our duck developed bumblefoot—a fancy name for a nasty staph infection that makes a duck’s foot swell like a balloon.

Big sigh.

So, it was back to daily wound washing, fresh wraps, and another round of antibiotics.
Finally—finally—we were done.

A few months later, our feathered friend grew soft, downy feathers right where that gaping injury had been. If you didn’t know better, you’d never guess this duck had once been one wing short of a miracle.

Plot Twist: The Miracle Duck Was a Dude

A few weeks later, as we admired our recovered bird, we realized something…
That soft, croaky “quack”? Not a quack at all.

Our “miracle girl” was a boy.

Would we have spent months nursing him back if we’d known?
Honestly… maybe not. We were counting on future eggs as part of the motivation. But at that point, he’d earned his spot in the flock.

So we named him Quakken, the One-Winged Wonder, and let him live out his happy, lopsided life.

What We Learned From the Attack on Quakken

• Predators are relentless—lock down every inch of your coop.

• Ducks can survive major injuries if infection is prevented.

• Vetericyn Plus and chlorhexidine are lifesavers.

• Canned peas will bribe every duck.

• And finally: never underestimate the power of a companion (or two).

Would I do it again? Probably—after a deep sigh and a stronger coffee.
At least now I know that when the zombie apocalypse hits, I can field-dress a duck.