Well, yesterday morning the rescued mallard hen died. It’s likely she broke her wing in a confrontation with a dog or a car and had other injuries. I’m happy that she at least died warm and among ducks, rather than in the snowy, lonely area where I found her, but I’m also, and to a surprising degree, sad. My father once told me that I was so soft-hearted that I’d always be breaking my heart through my own kind actions. He was right, but I’d rather live this way than not care at all.