Robert McCloskey's Mr. and Mrs. Mallard
nested on the banks of the Charles River in Boston, Massachusetts. A
kindly policeman named Michael stopped traffic so that the proud parents
and their offspring could cross the highway in safety.
Earlier this week, I ran an errand at the University Mall in
Mishawaka, Indiana, not too far from Notre Dame. It was 8:45 p.m. and
hard to see, for dusk was nearly finished with the task of dousing the
last rays of sunlight. I parked my car and then hustled toward the mall
entrance. Suddenly, I saw a sight that made me stop in my tracks: Mr.
and Mrs. Mallard, II.
When I paused to admire them, Mr. Mallard rose huffily from his perch beside his ladylove.
Puffing out his chest and clucking softly, he bravely acted as bait to draw me toward
him and away from his family.
Protective and game, he remained as far from
Mrs. Mallard as he could without actually stepping off the curb down to
the asphalt.
I've been worried about these two ever since.
There
should be, I thought, a flexible plastic temporary fence set up all around
the perimeter to cordon off the area. Unseeing children might hop up the
curb and accidentally kick the nest, and I considered calling the mall administrators to ask for intervention on the behalf of the Mallard family.
However, I countered in a self-conducted debate, it is possible that a fence
would only bring more attention to these defenseless creatures. In any
case, the act of installing a fence might stress the ducks so much,
it would harm more than help them.
Water is another issue. When it stops raining (IF it ever stops
raining), how will Mrs. Mallard get a drink? How long before dehydration
sets in? And, when the ducklings hatch, their first instinct is to walk
to some kind of a body of water for swimming lessons. How in the world will Mr. and Mrs. Mallard manage
what should be a triumphant coming-out parade when they have to cross
acres of asphalt, all the while dodging thousands of moving vehicles? Cars
whizz to and fro even as I stood there pondering their predicament. I imagined newborn ducklings and how impossible it will be to keep them safe, and I shuddered. The thought of
fuzzy Innocence flattened beneath SUVs pulling into parking spaces mere inches from this birthing facility made my stomach lurch, and I suddenly felt ill. Wistfully, I imagined bringing a little baby pool to their island, at least until the ducklings were old enough to be moved to a wildlife habitat.
What
bothered me most of all, however, is the thought of some sadistic idiot
deliberately wreaking terror and death upon these courageous parents
who are making the best of a bad environment. Anyone who is
trying to raise children in the inner cities will recognize this issue; they face the same Sisyphusian challenge every day.
The following day, just
before starting my trip back home, I insisted that my son and I pay one
last visit to the mall. I came armed with a bag full of bread. I snapped a few pictures and scattered bread all over the island, making
certain to toss pieces near Mrs. Mallard so that she could eat without
rising from her nest.
It would be nice
if there were a kindly policeman named Michael who would watch over this
family, as there had been for the McCloskey ducklings, rock stars made famous in the Caldecott Medal-winning classic Make Way For Ducklings.
But Make Way For Ducklings was published in 1941. Sad to say, these are different times. Today, for example, the torture and killing of newborn kittens are actions that simply represent currency that will buy cell phone entertainment or a few minutes of YouTube fame for needy sickos. (See: Kitten murders.)
I have learned that the Mallards are entitled to protection under Federal Law. They can neither be harmed nor possessed. Once a mother has laid her eggs, it is against the law for anyone to attempt to move or disrupt the nest. My daughter suggests that maybe a sign detailing the special status of this family should be posted. I think that's a good idea.
We're the ones who paved Paradise and put in a parking lot. When, despite all odds, former residents of Paradise move back into the neighborhood, the very least we ought to do is recognize the courage and beauty they represent and, accordingly, protect them with all of our many resources.