. . . is dire. It is in fact so dire that although I have movies and photos of Vashti and of the last hen and her brood of nine, I am not mentally prepared to put them up, as they evoke bad memories and deep sadness. (As you may recall, both broods left the pond, almost certainly because they were harassed by drakes.) Vashti came back and re-nested in her old nest (!); she’s now sitting on a brood of seven eggs. The second hen, who was never named, has also returned but hasn’t (yet) nested, but is accompanied by an aggressive drake.
I have been keeping a careful eye on what is going on in the pond, and I’m quite worried about Vashti, whose brood is set to hatch within two weeks. Once a day I call her down to the pond for a feeding and a bath. She stays for about 15 minutes, gobbling up a big meal, preening for a while, and then quickly flying back to her nest to incubate the eggs. But over the past week or so, the damn drakes have been chasing her when they see her, driving her out of the pond, quacking and hiding nearby. It is only with considerable effort that I can get her away from the drakes so she can eat and go back to her nest. Note that the drakes aren’t trying to attack her; they want to mate with her. And she doesn’t want to mate!
What this means is that when she finally comes down with ducklings, she and her brood will be mercilessly harassed, just like the last hen and her brood. And that means that in all likelihood they will flee the pond, which means certain death for the ducklings.
I thus have a hard choice: let them come to the pond and take their chances, or arrange for the brood (and mother, if all possible) to be captured and either taken to a distant body of water or to a wildlife rehab facility. The first alternative is unpalatable, as it involves the death of the entire brood, but I think it’s likely if I don’t intervene. Lately I have been moving towards to the second alternative: letting Facilities and the Chicago Bird Collision Monitors take over and recover everyone if they can. Getting the ducklings is relatively easy, though they’ll be in the water very quickly after they jump. But getting Mom is a job for pros, as she can fly away.
My priority is to save lives, not entertain the University community with the sight of ducklings—ducklings who won’t last on the Pond more than a day or two.
It’s always been a great joy for me to help rear the babies up to fledging, but compared to the loss of lives, that is a selfish attitude. I think I will go by the words of Maimonides, “If you save one life, it is as if you saved the world entire.” To me that means that I could save an entire life for each duckling rescued. It’s a hard decision and a sad one, but if the goal is to save lives, the strategy is clear.
The good news is that all five turtles put in the pond last fall survived the winter. Here they are sunning on a rock yesterday. There are four red-eared sliders and one yellow-bellied slider—two subspecies of a single species.
“Note that the drakes aren’t trying to attack her; they want to mate with her. And she doesn’t want to mate!”
So in the wild, will the drakes typically will kill any brood that they didn’t sire, and at that point the female will go into estrus and the drake will mate with her? And then does the drake “guard” his female and chase off rival males, allowing her to tend to her brood? Or does the female and her brood just have to find a pond with no drakes?
I would suggest using AI here; I don’t know what happens in the wild. All I know is that this kind of attack has been very, every rare in previous years.
Love the turtles, but the duck situation not so much. What a mess, and the stress only multiplies given that babies are on their way.
Because the wild world is so rife with tragedy, we have decided not to give our yard bunnies names anymore. It’s too distressing when something inevitably happens to them. Three-year-old Stripey—who turned up one day a few weeks ago with a dislocated leg or hip—hung on for a few days and then disappeared, presumed dead. It was sad. New bunnies have arrived to take her place, however, and we’re endeavoring not to name them. One of the bunnies—all of them Eastern Cottontails—has a distinctive white ring around its eyes, offering several obvious naming opportunities. The bunny remains nameless, although we are occasionally tempted to call him “Nameless.”
Elaine said it best: “I told you the Drake was bad. I hate the Drake!”
A hard choice but I think you’ve made (or almost made) the right choice, Jerry. I know this is a stupid question but there’s no way to drive off the awful drakes? Obviously no or you would be considering it. So sorry you won’t get to help rear fledglings this year.