About an hour ago, I was heading out of the house to my car when I heard this thumping, flopping sound and saw through our tree what looked like a bag tumbling erraticaly into our driveway. A few thuds later and I was able to get a clearer picture through the branches: it was definitely something alive. It paused for a second, and that's when I realized I was looking at a nearly-decapitated duck. It had just been hit by a car that had kept on driving. "Oh, no," I said to my wife, and started to step outside. Blood spurted from the duck's head and trailed behind it onto my driveway as it stumbled aimlessly. It flapped its wings and tumbled onto the ground and back up again, making its way toward my car. Then I heard high-pitched chirping and saw three tiny ducklings trying to keep up with their mother, narrowly avoiding the other cars. "Oh, no. Come here! Oh, no!" I said again to my wife and rushed outside. Another car had seen what happened and stopped. The driver was wearing a uniform, and in my confusion I thought for a moment that he worked for some kind of animal rescue service, and was already on the scene. But he was just a guy leaving his job as an engineer at the nearby hospital, and wanted to help. In front of his car were two more ducklings who didn't make it across the street. "We're going to have to kill that duck! It's suffering!" my wife said in a panic. "I know. But I can't do it," I said, still keeping an eye on the three wandering ducklings. The hospital engineer calmly said he would do it. He apologized to the duck, who was now inching closer and closer to my car, and I told my wife to look away before he stomped its head. The engineer and I chased down two out of three of the ducklings, who zigzagged and dodged us and made us look like clumsy fools. We eventually caught them and put them in a box. The third one got away, never to be found, despite our relentless scouting. The engineer volunteered to dispose of the duck's body in the woods behind our house. I asked him if he wanted a bag, but he said he was fine with bare hands. He's definitely more of an outdoorsman than I am. "Could you also take the two little ones in front of your car?" I asked. I'm not sure if the engineer hit the ducklings, but he had a lot of remorse about the situation. He seemed like a very sensitive older guy. I carried the two who survived in a box as I looked for their sibling, with them chirp-squeaking the whole time, and trying to jump out. I eventually moved them to my cat's carrier bag inside the house (a tip from a rescue place my wife was on the phone with). Then I went outside and hosed and scraped the mother duck's blood off the driveway. I thought I heard the missing duckling calling for its mother, and followed the sound to my neighbor's yard. It was just his German Shepard lying in the yard, whining and whimpering. This all happened right after all the rescue places within 45 minutes of us had closed for the day, so the ducklings have to stay here for the night. Following the advice of the woman who we're delivering them to tomorrow, we put a towel and small bowl of water in the carrier with them. They're chirp-squeaking in the warm laundry room as I type this. It was one hell of a surreal and emotional experience for everyone.