“The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.”
I’m sure Emma Lazarus wasn’t referring to Mallards, but here on the Concord River, anything goes. Like a hen who’s been wobbling around with an enlarged foot due to fishing line with entangled roots wrapped around her ankle.
Another hen has a split beak. I’m not sure if she tried to eat a rock or quacked back to her drake, but the bottom portion of her bill is at a very uncomfortable-looking angle.
She does her best to eat but the other ducks surround her and, basically, harass her (if ducks are capable of harassment) until she gives up and swims away.
Okay, so you can’t call him a huddled mass, but a Bufflehead preceded the first official snowfall. He was so small and cute as a button.
And the snow was exquisite.
So the huddled masses continue to arrive each day, reaching my shore with their expectations of food–lots and lots of food. Emma would be proud.