Duck Drama

We see a lot of ducks in the neighborhood these days - both mallards and the brown females. They waddle around in the street, seem oblivious to cars until the last moment, fight and sometimes fly, huddle close to the tiny pools of water created by imperfect drainage systems. And one little brown duck decided to nest right outside of our laundry room door, in a little bit of green. I'm sure she thought she had her back against the wall, and she really was well nestled in, but when we opened the door we scared her and then she scared us as she bolted in a burst of feathers and wingbeats. From a safe distance, we peered in at her nest. Almost a dozen long white eggs, chicken-like and yet different, lay inside.

She came back not long afterwards, but we messed up and walked past again, and again she bolted. This time she was gone for a long time. Night fell, a storm rose. We thought for sure that she had abandoned the nest. I wondered how much a duck can feel, how complex and how deep it's emotions. Imagine waiting until the last minute to leave the nest, then flying away, frightened... not knowing what is taking place behind you, in the nest you thought you had hidden well. Do you dare to return, not knowing what you will find? Were your eggs taken, eaten, crushed? Did the enemy still lay in wait? Then perhaps she was caught in the storm. Did she think of her nest? Did she fear? Did she worry?

She was back the next day, and we were ready for her. We put post it notes on the door leading to the nest, requesting that it not be disturbed. "Do Not Use: Ducks!" one read. And the other: "Favor de no usar esta puerta. Hay Patos!" Every once in a while we peered at her through the blinds. She was cautious, watchful, moved at the slightest sound. The day after that she was gone for a while and we saw one broken egg on the sidewalk.

We left that afternoon and didn't see her before we leave. We came home to find the nest full of egg fragments. My dad says they hatched. I wish I could believe that.

Either way, that's the end.