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I too am in my teens. We've got a whole "pet cemetary" here up in our pine grove. When we moved I even had them dig up the grave of my very first dog and bring him here. (He was wrapped up in thick thick plastic, with lots of layers, so it wasn't gross or anything."
I have a story kind of like yours. We had a duck hatch out 14 babies. One took a long time getting out of his shell and I went out after dark to check on him. He wasn't moving and we could not see him breathing. Then he twitched just a little. We brought him in and gave him electrolite water with a dropper, wrapped him in warm rags from the dryer and got him under a heat lamp. He was fine, but had a lot of trouble walking. He just couldn't use his legs very well. After a while he was fine, but way smaller than everyone else. We put him out with all his brothers and sisters, then brought him in at night. One day I went out and was calling for him (His name was Charlie) and I couldn't find him anywhere. I happened to glance down at the kiddy pool by my feet and saw him floating just under the surface. It was terrible and I blame myself for not checking on him earlier. He must have got in somehow and couldn't get back out, even though we had made steps with pieces of broken bricks.
I think the moral is, if they were truely meant to die they will die anyway. Kind of like the "Final Destination" philosophy.
I too am in my teens. We've got a whole "pet cemetary" here up in our pine grove. When we moved I even had them dig up the grave of my very first dog and bring him here. (He was wrapped up in thick thick plastic, with lots of layers, so it wasn't gross or anything."
I have a story kind of like yours. We had a duck hatch out 14 babies. One took a long time getting out of his shell and I went out after dark to check on him. He wasn't moving and we could not see him breathing. Then he twitched just a little. We brought him in and gave him electrolite water with a dropper, wrapped him in warm rags from the dryer and got him under a heat lamp. He was fine, but had a lot of trouble walking. He just couldn't use his legs very well. After a while he was fine, but way smaller than everyone else. We put him out with all his brothers and sisters, then brought him in at night. One day I went out and was calling for him (His name was Charlie) and I couldn't find him anywhere. I happened to glance down at the kiddy pool by my feet and saw him floating just under the surface. It was terrible and I blame myself for not checking on him earlier. He must have got in somehow and couldn't get back out, even though we had made steps with pieces of broken bricks.
I think the moral is, if they were truely meant to die they will die anyway. Kind of like the "Final Destination" philosophy.