Duck Season

It's that time of year again. Mama Duck had twelve little babies, most of them yellow with brown stripes, some all brown with a yellow chest spot--cute little ducklings following her around, swimming in the water of the bay, leaping onto the floating dock, burrowing under her feathers to sleep at night--for one night, anyway. The next day there were only four ducklings. Later in the day there's only one, a little brown one. And as we watch, three drakes chase the mother around. One of them eventually catches her, mounts her, pushes her head down into the water, while she quacks, seems to be calling for her only duckling.

In Germany, I saw many Mallard families swimming in placid waters: mother, father, and a little chain of ducklings. There's something sinister about this Alcatraz version: rough waters, rocks, deadbeat dads, seagulls and ravens looking well-fed...

The next day there aren't any ducklings. Nature has no sympathy for cute.