Living on the coast, we have a good number of migratory birds pass through our area. I had the pleasure of getting to know four of them starting in the spring of 2001.
It began one morning, as I sat on the front porch with my coffee and my laptop. I saw two mallards fly down the street and land at the edge of the lawn. I watched as they wandered in the grass, seeking bugs and seeds. The male followed quietly after the female while she searched, bill down, through my lawn. He never made a sound; he just followed her. After a while, she wandered to the side of the yard, lay down, and curled up to sleep. He watched her silently, and then he wandered back to the middle of the yard, and searched for his own breakfast. After a bit, he wandered to where she slept and curled up next to her.
Later that day, I did some research on Mallards and went out to pick up some food for them. I didn't want to fill their stomachs with something that wasn't suitable. I brought it home, put a portion in a tightly lidded container, and left it on the porch.
The next morning, again I sat on the porch, coffee in one hand, laptop beside me, watching the world wake up. Sure enough, after a long wait, and several cups of coffee, I saw them flying in low. They landed at the lower end of the lawn and began to wander toward me. The female, her bill sweeping the grass in front of her, was unaware of the gentle protective eye of her male, who walked quietly behind her. I opened the container of food, and cast out a few handfuls, just as the man at the feed store had shown me. The water dish was already in place. I sat down, and picked up my camera. Slowly, the female moved toward the grain. She tasted a bit, and then headed for the water. She then alternated between picking up the grain and sipping the water. The whole time, the male just watched, silently, behind her. After a bit, she wandered to the edge of the lawn, and settled down. Again, he watched her, and then headed back to the grain. He tried some, and then drank. I named them Marilyn and Monroe.
My neighbor's dog, Lucky, barked as one of the neighborhood kids stepped out to head to the bus stop. Marilyn woke and quacked once. Monroe chirped back at her, not a real quack, more subdued than that, and headed toward her. When she saw him, she settled back down, and put her head back under her wing. He waited a few minutes, glanced at the water dish and the grain still on the grass, and then settled down next to her.
I watched them for quite a while that morning. My daughter was asleep in her crib and my older children were already at school. I took pictures and thought about duck life. I realized that my husband was very like Monroe. He watches me quietly a good portion of the time. He gives me first chance at whatever I see, and then when I am satisfied, he takes care of himself, but if I need him, he is right there to comfort me. I wondered to myself, are we that different from ducks?
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Marilyn and Monroe are not the only ducks who choose our yard as their spring vacation spot. Two others, whom I named Larry and Lily, are also frequent visitors.
Larry is a more vocal duck. He quacks a lot, nearly continually. Not all his quacks are loud, in fact it more sounds like grumbling than quacking most of the time. I have come to call it quackeling.
Lily is quiet, tentative and timid. While Marilyn will approach me and wait for me to put down food, Lily hangs back and watches. I wonder what has happened in her life to make her so distrustful.
Her relationship with Larry differs from Marilyn and Monroe's relationship as well. Where Monroe watches Marilyn and encourages her to go first, Larry is not cut from the same cloth. He pushes forward to eat first, he grabs Lily by the neck and pushes her in the direction he thinks is best; he quackles at her constantly.
One morning, as I sipped my coffee and watched Marilyn and Monroe, Larry and Lily came to visit as well. I was about to toss out the grain just as they landed at the edge of the lawn. I recognized them, both by the constant quackeling of Monroe, but also by the small bald spot on the back of Lily’s neck. I set down my coffee and reached for the container of food. Grabbing a handful, I sat down on the steps, and invited Marilyn to approach.
As soon as I sat, she waddled up to me, stopping about a foot away. Monroe wandered by the plum tree about 6 feet away, trying to act nonchalant, but watching me. I began tossing the grain to her. Marilyn ate and then sipped water. When Larry saw me doling out food, he waddled up as well, though he stopped about 2 feet away. When Lily tried to approach, he quackled at her to stay back. I tossed some food her way, and he dove to get it first. I tossed out the rest, making sure that Lily would get some while Larry was busy with some I had tossed a little further out. Soon, Marylyn ambled to her normal sleeping spot, Monroe watching and guarding her. Once she was settled, he came to get his breakfast.
Larry continued to eat, even when Lily waddled off for her nap. He didn’t even watch to see which way she headed. She stopped a few feet from Marilyn, and curled up. Larry tried to prevent Monroe getting food, but I was watching, and made sure that both got plenty.
I stood up, moved back to my regular chair and my now lukewarm coffee, and took some pictures of them. I pondered the styles of the two drakes. I know that part of their actions is inbred instincts, but obviously, there is room for personal variances too. Monroe was a much more nurturing partner than Larry was. In fact, I compared Larry in my mind to the descriptions of abusive spouses and realized that humans do not hold the patent on cruel behavior.
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