Clipping the Duck String
Copyright(c) 2006 R. Elena Tabachnick. All rights reserved.
The other day I drove up behind a car stopped in the middle of a suburban street. I was annoyed until I noticed the car stopped on the other side of the street. Between the two cars walked a mom duck followed by a string of ducklings. It was an unusually long string, maybe a dozen ducklings. They all crossed and the cars began to move as the mom duck jumped the curb and her ducklings followed one by one. I continued to watch. Another suburbanite drove up behind me and honked just as the second smallest duckling jumped at the curb - and missed. The smallest also tried the jump and also failed. They flapped their nascent wings. No luck. Each stumbled along the gutter jumping and flapping. The mom duck hunkered down on the sidewalk surrounded by the rest of her brood. Unaware of the ducklings, the other driver honked again. I had to go. As I put my car in gear, a crow flew down and stood in the grass over the struggling ducklings.
“O.K., it’s just biology,” I thought as I drove slowly away. “What duck manages to fledge a dozen ducklings? There’s nothing I should do except let nature take its course. After all, crows deserve to eat, too.” I drove a of couple blocks, then stopped. I had to do something, to try and help.
By the time I returned the stranded ducklings had gotten pretty far from where the mom duck still crouched - the crow keeping pace over them. I parked and got out.
Now I’ve lived with mammalogists and ornithologists and been shown how to grasp a wild thing: firmly, wrapping a hand around it. Hold it firmly, and it won’t hurt itself or you. I know what to do. That doesn’t mean I can do it. My socialized fear of hurting interferes. I did manage to scoop up the second smallest duckling although I held it too loosely and it flailed in my hand. I set it down close to the mom duck. It ran to safety, tucking itself into the mass of siblings. I felt the rush of warmth that philanthropy brings.
Then I went to get the smallest duckling. It was way down the street, having run in total panic from my hand descending on its sib. I managed to scoop it up, but still couldn’t bring myself to grasp it firmly enough. It wriggled hard. I held it against my breast. But as I got close to the mom duck it wriggled from my fingers and fell to the sidewalk. I couldn’t hear it land but imagined a sickening thud. Still, after a moment it ran to its mother. Only something was wrong. This smallest duckling didn’t join the brood, instead huddling into itself away from the others. Like it wasn’t sure of its welcome. Like it knew that was as close as it could get and not be driven away.
I went back to my car and continued on my errands. I didn’t see the end of the story, but I’m sure that smallest duckling was soon to be crow food. And, although it was saved for now, how long did the second smallest have? It’d be an extraordinary year when a duck could fledge a dozen ducklings.
Laying eggs is relatively cheap and predators go for the weakest first. So perhaps having an extra long string of smaller and smaller sibs buys protection for the stronger babies. Perhaps that is their sole work in the world, to be a dangling bribe that predators will take, one by one, insurance for those with a better chance of adulthood.
So what price an act of compassion? Did I actually save one duck and give another a chance? Or did I just make myself feel good, while leaving them the whole thing to go through, all over again, later? I don’t know. Life is so complicated and mysterious. If the value of helping is only in the result, it must mean nothing when we don’t save the way we intend. But what if value lies in simply extending a hand, in trying? If the purpose of the smallest ducklings is to protect the others by dying first, then perhaps I did ok, even if I was just interfering to make myself feel good. The thing is, my heart would not let me drive away. That is all I am sure of. Nature could go on to clip the string of ducklings, life by tiny life. I had to put my hand in anyway, all justifications aside.
That is also biology.