Having long held the common perception of Mallard ducks as beautiful and benign denizens of the Chesapeake Bay, representatives of innocent nature, kinder than man, I was gobsmacked to learn that right in our marina lived a nocturnal roving band of fowl thugs.
All seemed peaceful at first. During rainy spring mornings, I explored our marina, and became familiar with the feathered residents of our “neighborhood”.
There was “The Teenaged Mother”-a young duck, whose 6 peeps hatched well before other female’s. Her ditzy style of mothering lacked caution. She blithely swam hither and thither, fond but distractible. At times she barely attended to her fuzzy brood, occasionally giving a laconic quack as they industriously paddled and strayed. I watched sadly as her adorable peeps disappeared one by one over a course of days…5,4,3,2,1 none!
Sticking close to our marina’s on-site Crab House restaurant were three males I thought of as The Band of Brothers. Like inseparable old army buds frequenting the VFW, these three plump oldsters were sure to be found boldly frequenting the outdoor patio of this popular eating establishment. This urbanized trio picked through the pine chips for leftovers treats without regard for the presence of human patrons, squawked their enjoyment loudly to each other, scrambled en masse to piles of abandoned French fries, and swam away in a contented grumbling group when sated.
Perhaps my favorite pair were Gertrude and Albert, a devoted couple whose domestic bliss was enviable. I met them in March while our boat was still on the hard. While I painted our hull in a Tyvek suit, Gertrude would keep me company, sunning herself in a warm patch by our paint tarp, or meander about, mouthing pebbles and making tiny contented quacks. Albert stood sentinel, watchful and solicitous, eyeing my movements cautiously as he guarded his bride. Often upon arriving at the marina in the morning I would find them under our boat, nestled together, each with a head under wing.
What dabbler district could be more peaceable? How benign our little feathered fold! A story book picture of what animal life is and should be. What evil lurked in the heart of the spring? THE MURDEROUS DRAKES.
As the weather warmed, and our duck population grew, my husband and I became sleepily aware during the nights aboard our boat of nearby flurries of splashing, deep and rasping “Meks” and “Wheks”, the whir of beating wings, and even the odd thump against our hull.
The significance of these sounds eluded us until one night, whilst up late, we witnessed a gang of males set upon and harry an unfortunate fellow drake.
Pecking and squawking, they mobbed the victim, ducking him (sorry) repeatedly. Desperate, the battered object of their fury laboriously took wing. The whole group of aggressive ducks followed, taking to the air in typical bumbling fashion. Although their comic take-offs and ascents were laughable- reminiscent of bowling pins in flight, these bad ducks were clearly in earnest as to their warlike intent.
In the skirmishes that followed we saw drakes fly into boat hulls in pursuit of their enemies. We saw two ducks drowned by the ferocity of their fellows and witnessed the murderous drakes worry one of the corpses.
In the other case, we saw a lone mallard ally attempt to resuscitate his fallen companion by repeatedly elevating the dead duck’s neck and head out of the water, and upon failing to bring his buddy back to life, he quacked mournfully over and over, maintaining chest contact with the feathered carcass as it drifted with the tide- attending the body for over an hour. Our view of our feathered friends was forever altered.
Consulting Audubon’s and Wikipedia, I found confirmation that this aggressive behavior is well-documented, and seems to be ascribed to “the hormonal excesses of the mating season” (what bad behavior HASN’T been attributed to hormonal excess??) but I wonder.
Are the secret lives of mallards any less complex, mysterious, and emotionally rich than our own? Am I guilty of anthropomorphism and nothing more if in these behaviors I see evidence of a real and complex inner life? Mother love, fraternal comraderie, marital devotion, warlike aggression and anger, fear, grief-surely these are not exclusive aspects of man’s nature alone?
I am no scientist, but I must take into evidence what my senses show me-The Murderous Drakes of Dividing Creek have begun to open my eyes to the complex realities of other creatures’ worlds that co-exist with my own. Previously unseen and unsuspected by my oblivious mindset , they pursue their passionate and poignant existence right in my own “backyard.”