Quacking, if naughty, tales from the riverbank
SPRING is in the air and an old man’s thoughts while rambling in the countryside naturally turn to… the love lives of ducks. I’ve become something of a twitcher on my regular canalside walks in the Erewash Valley.
But enough of my medical problems. I’m here to discuss the bizarre couplings of members of the mallard species, or as we experts call them duckus normalus.
And it’s like Tales From The Riverbank but with an X-certificate.
I’ve been able to witness their antics close up thanks to the lure of a bag of breadcrumbs and my wife’s distinct purple coat.
I’m convinced that the ducks occupying a stretch of canal near our home recognise my better half. They certainly talk the same language.
Spring is all about new life. You can see it in the behaviour of our mallard friends.
Nests are being built for new arrivals. There are clear signs of care and courtesy among the feathered fraternity.
It all seems so normal. A pair of mallards head to the canal towpath at first sight of Mrs P’s purple coat and the male hangs back while the female feasts.
(Think dad-to-be handing the remains of his kebab to the missus on a night out, but instead of two, Mrs Duck is eating for 12.)
Any approaching male is chased away with a squawked “get your webbed feet off my girl!”
Then, one day, we are approached by a female and two males, the nearest of which – hubby, we presume – dutifully holds back as the female has her fill.
The other male shows no interest in the food but, at the sight of a FEMALE approaching, springs into action, chasing her through the water and up into the air.
So, who is this gallant third duck? A doting grandad-to-be, perhaps, preserving the sanctity of the pairing of a beloved son or daughter enjoying a post-wedding feast, fresh from dancing to The Birdie Song at a reception in the bullrushes?
Is he seeing off the advancing female because he knows her type?
Perhaps he’s spotted her before, in the Quackers Hotel, all fishnet stockings and bright red lipstick, clucking “fancy a little company?” to passing geese.
Is he afraid she’s out to snare his boy – or his boy’s girl?
Then again, his motives might be entirely selfish.
He might not be looking out the young couple at all, just biding his time, playing the supportive pal until he can whisk the lady away with fowl intent one night when dad has fallen asleep singing Three Little Ducks Went Swimming One Day to the babies.
Perhaps it’s not straightforward duckie-nookie on his mind but a menage-a-trois.
I would apologise for voicing such concerns, dear reader, but until I can get out more, they seem eminently reasonable in “ey up mi duck” land.