Duck Tales, Part III

Who knew the US Department of Geological Surveys, had a sense of humor?! The article on their website,  "Help, There's a Duck in My Flowerpot!" isn't exactly laugh-out-loud funny, but it is a chuckle-worthy description of the eclectic nesting habits of Mallards.  Apparently, it isn't at all unusual for them to make themselves comfortable in attractive hiding spots as much as 3 miles from the nearest pond, and they do have a particular affinity for large flowerpots. 

We hadn't gotten around to putting any flowerpots out yet -- though we have plans for some dahlias -- and we hadn't seen our duck for a few days, so I was beginning to think she had abandoned us for crockery elsewhere. 

That would be wrong.

Monday afternoon Mr. Mulch headed out to plant tomatoes when there was another flurry of feathers.  The squawking blur resolved itself into Mrs. Mallard, who then flew up over the roof and disappeared.  Since he was all the way over on the other side of the garden it wasn't clear where she had been lounging when he disturbed her.  He relayed this to me when I got home from work. Since it was -- miraculously -- not raining, I tiptoed up the hill to check out her last known address: Cousin Itt.  As I approached from the path directly above, I could see why a predator-averse critter might find this to be appealing real estate.  On the uphill side of the plant the limbs form the sheltering roof of a not-so-small dark, moist cave.  And while I couldn't see anything in there from a distance...

Approaching Cousin Itt from the path above

 ... as I crouched down, it became blindingly apparent that we now had a tenant.



Monday's nest -- 4 eggs!

 I counted four, maybe five, big white eggs, surrounded by some of Mrs. Mallard's down.  The eggs were surprisingly big -- about half again the size of chicken eggs.  Now, you might be wondering where the Missus was.  Well, according to the folks at USGS, the female Mallard lays up to 10-12 eggs over a period of several days during which she spends only an hour or so in the nest.  Incubation doesn't start until she's through laying entirely and then she takes up more permanent residence, leaving only occasionally to forage for food.

I have to say I was so unaccountably excited at this find that I nearly broke my neck tearing down the path to report my discovery.  I dragged Mr. Mulch back up to verify that I wasn't seeing things, at which point my younger daughter flexed her biology/anthropology double major credentials and soundly rebuked me for butting my nose into the natural order of things.  I had to promise I wouldn't disturb the nest or the duck ever. again. really. before she'd leave me alone.  And I kept that promise. 

Until Tuesday.

Home from work, I took advantage of a momentary hiatus from what looks to be a week-long rainstorm, and once again crept up to check on the nest.  This time, it was apparent even from a distance, that Mrs. Mallard had been reading the USGS article.



Tuesday's nest -- looks like more eggs!

 I knelt down to get a better look and, sure enough, she had added to her stash.  There were now 10 eggs visible!

Some are hard to see, but there are 10 there!

Later that same evening, not being able to leave well enough alone, I ventured out one more time (don't tell my daughter).  I just wanted to see whether the Missus was done laying and had moved in, unpacked, and set up her cosmetics.  It was close to dusk, so I couldn't really see too much, but I know what I DIDN'T see -- there were no eggs visible.  Which meant that she was there sitting on top of them.  I tried to get close enough to get a photo, but it was too dark under Cousin Itt even for a flash.  I did, however, hear a distinct hissing sound which could only have come from a furious fowl, so I backed off and will now leave her alone.  Maybe.

I will say that while Cousin Itt does offer a very protected environment from predators, if what Mrs. Mallard wanted was peace and quite from her human hosts, she couldn't have picked a worse spot.  Her lair is right alongside the main path we use on a daily basis to get up and down to the garden and seating areas.  It's not quite as public as going into labor at the Vince Lombardi rest stop on the New Jersey Turnpike, but it's as close as you get in our backyard. 

I sure hope she gets used to us, or she'll become a nervous wreck -- fleeing everytime we go out to pick radishes, getting hysterical when we head for the seating area with a cocktail.  And just think of the impact on the ducklings.  They'll spend years in therapy working out all the damage their neurotic mother inflicted on them during the 100 yard trek to the nearest pond!