We
have so many birds here in Arizona, some year-rounders and some just snowbirds
like our part-time residents. All the widgeons have flown away north, and a lot
of the coots are gone, all the stupid ones, I guess. Most of the mallard ducks, the ones that were
born here have decided that Arizona is better than what they might find up
north.
Not long ago, on one of our golf courses, I saw three families of
mallards, eight or nine in each bunch, and the familial closeness of them was
noteworthy. In all three cases the
father and mother were right there to shepherd the little ones around the
ponds. One group was engaged in practice
dives. These little walnut-sized bits of
fluff would tip their heads down and pop under the surface for two or three
seconds, then pop up again. So
cute. I couldn’t help but wonder what it
was they were diving for. Some
subsurface food, maybe? Or more likely, just for the fun of it.
But I was reminded of that brutal scene I
witnessed a few years ago. The state
conservation people had taken most of the female mallards out of the golf
course ponds, so the remaining males tended to get horny with no resources
available. That made for mallard male
homosexuality. Any port in a storm, so
to speak.
I was playing golf on a hole
with a pond nearby, and all of a sudden I noticed a male attacking another male
out near the middle of the pond. He was
literally riding the other’s back and pecking him fiercely on the head, even
holding his head under water as he had his way with him. And right behind this duo were another three
males. Whenever the pursued duck managed
to get away momentarily, the others would fight over whose turn it was. I can’t imagine anything more brutal taking
place in a prison shower room. The poor
duck managed to free himself and fly to shore, but the others were right behind
him and proceeded to nail him there as well.
My point is that here I am, so enamored of this idyllic scene of mallard
family life and just a few years earlier I saw mallards behaving like cell
block bullies. It didn’t matter to them
if they killed the one they were attacking as long as they got their sexual way
with him. No sweet, comic little Disney
characters these guys.
We tend to
romanticize creatures in nature, and every now and then nature has to slap us
in the face and remind us that it’s still a jungle out there, and we’re not so
far removed from that jungle that we can ignore the brutality inherent in
nature as well as in human nature.
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