What do ducks dream of?

Yesterday I looked out on the deck and saw the duck having a dream. His bill was tucked into his wing, his eyes were closed, he was fast asleep but he was shaking his tail, his wing tips quivered. I watched him for a few minutes, trying to figure out if it was a good dream. Or was it a re-enactment of the dog attack that left him the sole survivor of his flock? It was hard to tell. I went into the duck’s mind, and figured he might be dreaming of swimming, something he only got to do for a few months before the dog attack. His orange foot kicked a little.
Later I saw that Bill took a bath and left the water in the tub, which we do so we can use the water to flush the toilet. So I got ducky and stuck him in the water, then sat down to watch him. At first he quacked and quacked, and I thought I should get him out, but then he bobbed his head under, tasted some water, and paddled around. I’ve never seen him so happy. He took a long bath, flapped his wings, got his feathers clean. Then I carried him back out to the deck, where he lives with the rabbits and an occasional baby chicken.

I thought one day he would recover and perhaps I’d sneak him down to Lake Merritt to live out the rest of his days in a bird wildlife refuge. Thing is, he never really got better. Now when I look at Sir Duckerton I just feel sorry for him. His gimpy leg, his dreams. I mean, is this the proper life for a duck? Or is this a metaphor for life on this earth–a few joys, sadness, and dreams that seem so real.