
Come spring, we become host to ducks. They just appear, usually in pairs (some that we recognize – the mallards can have distinctive and unique markings and traits… there’s one we call Nike, because he has a white ‘swoosh’ on his left cheek, for instance). Nike and his girl are usually the first to show. They waddle up to my co-worker’s window and demand food.
We go to a local feed store and buy a bag of poultry food every year. We set up the food & water station in front of my window, where I can observe the succession of pairs (and the violent process of mating). This goes on for a while. We feed them, they come and go... and then the babies arrive. Such a bittersweet time.
I usually pull up one morning to see a female hunkered on the grass, wings ‘umbrellaed’ around her sides. And beneath, I see the movement of little babies. There are usually twelve or so of the little guys. They are a mix of black and mottled colours, and they look like tiny fuzzy lemons with heads. God if they aren’t the cutest things known to man.
It’s always such a drama. We become instantly protective of our baby broods. But we are powerless for them. And every day, the numbers dwindle. Crows, whom I usually respect for their wile and cleverness, I despise during this time, because they are primarily responsible for the babies’ declining numbers. They are very clever about it to; one distracts mother while the others move in on the babies.
I have yet to see a brood survive. :( It’s very sad. Especially since the babies bring us such joy while they’re around. I really like ducks. I wish I could keep some; but I’m certain raccoons would think them their personal buffet like the crows. Even I cannot deny that duck is really delicious.
No comments:
Post a Comment