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Six months later, Arthur stood on the green, rain-slicked campus of the University of Washington. He was wearing a raincoat, clipboard in hand, watching a flock of ducks paddle across a pond. He had gotten in.

Out came a tiny, glasses-wearing duckling that looked exactly like the spectral duck from the pond. It whispered into Elara’s ear: “The real preparation was the friends you quacked along the way.” quackprep.corg

There is a specific sound a duck makes when it trusts you. It is not a quack. It is a soft, rhythmic huff, like a sigh of relief. When I held Barnaby, a mallard with a fractured wing, and he made that sound, I didn't just want to be a vet. I wanted to be the reason he felt safe enough to sigh. Six months later, Arthur stood on the green,