Duck

Sometimes a juggler drops a ball on purpose, just to remind the audience how difficult it is. Well, this lame “Duck” post is just such a drop.

 

 

Duck

 

            We have seen, and Kim has photographed, 87 different species of birds on our Bark House property. Some have been on the lake or the shore, a few (Sand Hill Cranes, Bald Eagles) were flyovers, but most of them come to our bird feeders. All are welcome there, though some (Common Grackles) less welcome than others.

 

            A recent visitor was one of the most common and most strange: a Mallard duck. We see them swimming in the lake every day, and we enjoy watching Mama looking after her tiny offspring. Sometimes they come ashore on our beach, looking for food in the material that washed up. And a couple of weeks ago we saw Mama watching her two juvenile but nearly full-sized offspring explore the spilled seed under our feeders. They did not fly in, preferring to walk up the steep wooded hill from the shore, where they probably have their nest. After a few minutes here, they would walk off through the woods to our neighbor’s yard.

Mama Duck tending Two Juveniles

Mama, Watching

Sibs Going After Seeds

This is a bit strange, as we don’t think of Mallards as feeder-birds, but we enjoyed Mama Mallard’s simply watching over her young.

 

            But this week it got a little more strange. One of the birds, I assume one of the young ones we’d seen over the last few weeks, a female, pretty much camped out under the feeders. (I am assuming she is one of the previous three-some, though to me most Mallard females look alike.) She would wait under the feeders for the Blue Jays and others to spill seed down to her. Nothing very strange about this, except she would stay there for hours.

 

 

The Mallard we see every day is a beautiful bird.

            Kim and I formed a relationship with this duck. This was the natural world connecting with us, through our feeders. Yes, we see deer in our yard, and fox and raccoons, but this Mallard chose us. And there is something special about forming a connection with nature, even though the whole thing is fairly comical. She tolerated our presence on the back porch, watching her under the feeders. We decided she needed a name. We considered Donna, and Daffy, and I considered Fugga, but so far nothing has stuck.

 

            We tried to reinforce our connection by feeding her leftover corn muffin crumbs that we would toss out to her. She would back away from the toss, then come closer to get the crumbs. Initially she did not get closer than about ten feet. I spoke to her in as calm and reassuring a voice as I could, hoping to lure her in so she would nibble the crumbs out of my hand – much as the chipmunk who lives under the porch does. In fact, our duck has had several showdowns with the chipmunk over the corn muffin crumbs. 

She approaches.

 

            I know, I know – there is something pathetic about forming this kind of connection with nature. It’s not the same as coming across a bull moose in the forest or an alligator in our yard (as we did when we lived in Florida) or swimming with dolphins or manatees. It’s more like a relationship with a pet – though without the warmth. But still . . . it’s striking to see something where it is not supposed to be. Anything. (This is how I justify my accidentally hiding the dishes and silverware after I dry them.) A fresh context helps us to see.

 

            So far, we have gotten her to come within about six feet of us on the porch steps, and despite my reassuring words, I think hand feeding is unlikely. But still – we look forward to seeing her. We have run out of leftover corn muffins, so the relationship – exciting as it was - may be over.

            In fact, as I post this blog we have not seen her here for the last five days – probably, as Kim pointed out, a good thing for all of us. 

This Mallard has nothing to do with the ones in the blog, but Kim's photo is pretty cool.