Harry the Duck, and a Sparrow with Beautiful Eyes, by Danette Wereta

Last night, Sunday 19th October 2025, I got a message from one of my rescue buddies about an injured duck. The duck had been posted on their local community page earlier, and a community member was asking if any vet clinics were open.

A screenshot came through, and even though I was just about ready for bed after a long, exhausting weekend, I knew I couldn’t ignore an injured animal. I jumped in the car and headed to the spot.

I was nervous, rescues alone aren’t always easy, and it was that in-between time when the light fades fast, which makes searching in a park even harder. But I kept telling myself I needed to go and at least check out the situation. I could always mobilise the rescue team if needed (a group of us who care deeply).

When I arrived, the duck was in the exact same position as in the photo. That’s never a good sign. Without going close for a look, I walked straight back to the car to grab my cage and net, which were still in there from an earlier rescue. When I returned, he tried to move but couldn’t. He was lying in the cold, wet mud, so cold that when I picked him up, I could barely feel the warmth of life in him. The cold actually startled me. I used the net, though honestly, I could have just reached down and lifted him gently.

I tucked him up and placed him carefully into the cage. A quick look didn’t show any obvious external injuries, but something wasn’t right. I drove him straight out to Lil Quaks, about 40 minutes away. My petrol light was on, but none of this mattered. 

When I arrived, the legends at Lil Quaks were already up waiting for me. I pulled off my gumboots, exhausted and in tears, while they took the cage inside. What hit me the hardest was that the community post mentioned his mate was with him – I believe they were two boys. At the river near my place, I often see bonded male ducks, I assume brothers, and it’s always touching. When I found Harry (we name every rescue), his brother was right there beside him. I’d say he hadn’t left his side once. That loyalty, that love, hit me like a sledgehammer.

Normally, I can hold it together during rescues, but this time I couldn’t. Lil Quaks spoke gently, reassuring me as they lifted Harry and examined him. The good news: his wings were okay. The bad news: his leg was shattered beyond repair.

I couldn’t look. I couldn’t help. I could only feel the weight of what was coming.

Lil Quaks asked me to take him to the vet and we both knew what that meant without saying anything else. At that hour, only the after-hours vet was available, and they only do euthanasia. So Lil Quaks gave him pain relief and comfort. He was in visible pain by then. We wrapped him warmly, gave him cuddles, and I placed him back in the cage.  On the car ride, I played soft music and sang to him. I told him he was loved. I thanked him for being in the world, for his beauty, his calmness, his spirit.

Harry was peacefully put to sleep.

This morning, I woke up heavy. It always hurts so much. This is the reality of rescue. I always dream I could win lotto, just so I could open a vet hospital that treated wildlife – all wildlife. When we do so much harm to animals, it feels only right to also care for them. I went back to the site, and his brother was still there. I tried to talk to him and left food. I’ll go back tomorrow to check again. I don’t know what happened to Harry or how long he’d been suffering, but what I do know is that the bond between those two boys was real and strong. When one was in pain, the other stayed,  close, loyal, loving.

And yet, people still shoot these incredible beings for sport. For fun. How can anyone see what I saw, that connection, that devotion,  and still believe these lives are disposable?

Over the weekend, I also had another little encounter. A tiny sparrow flew into the window at a BP station. I just happened to be there, not my usual petrol stop, but clearly, I was meant to be. She lay still and breathing fast, shocked. I held her in my hand for about 30 minutes, letting her calm and recover, even though it made me late to pick up some ducklings.

As I sat there, I could hear other sparrows chirping nearby, maybe her parents. She slowly opened her eyes, her breathing steadied, and I knew she’d be okay. I took her around the side of the station, and at first, she wouldn’t leave my hand. Eventually, she flew up to the roof and perched there, safe.

Her eyes were so beautiful.

Every encounter with birds reminds me of their intelligence, their personalities, their beauty. Each one is an individual. I am unsure why we shoot them, hit them with our cars, ruin their habitats, and manage their population. But I do know this, love is contagious. And the more we see each bird as who they are, the harder it becomes to harm them.

I feel so blessed to meet them.

Fly free, Harry. I’m sorry you were not saved. 💛

Danette Wereta is a wildlife rescuer and blogger. She is the General Secretary of the Animal Justice Party of Aotearoa New Zealand.