Mike

Ball

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April 21, 2008

A Day at Club Mallard

Most of you know that we live on the shores of Whitmore Lake, Michigan – “Where the women are strong, the men are good looking and the children spend every winter asking why the heck we still live in Michigan.”

What you may not be aware of is that every spring we also provide the headquarters for a sort of singles club. For ducks.

We call it Club Mallard. Sure, we also get a fair number of geese, and the occasional swan, but our clientele is mostly ducks. They come in about this time each year, hoping to find that “perfect someone” to spend . . . well, at least the next couple of weeks with.

Please don’t bother writing me with comments like, “I assume that you are referring to the common Anas platyrhynchos, possibly the most recognized species of duck in North America,” then going on to tell me all about migration patterns and mating habits. I don’t know anything about that stuff, and I don’t particularly care to.

What I do know is that regular old ducks, the kind where the guys have green heads, show up at my place in the middle of April, then hang out for the rest of the summer, trying to pick up chicks.

OK, since “chicks” also refers to very young birds, male or female, I’ll admit that “trying to pick up chicks” might not really be the best choice of words here. We’re talking about ducks, not cardinals.

Anyway, I’m not entirely sure why the birds always choose my place. We do have a bird feeder in the yard, which seems to be the duck version of a bowl of mixed nuts and a jar of hard boiled eggs on the bar. And we have a good supply of the essential elements of duck ambiance – water and other ducks.

So every afternoon the ducks arrive, usually in same-sex pairs. The females swim around discretely, nibbling on passing minnows and probably chatting about what brand of bill-gloss is more waterproof.

Things begin to get lively when a couple of males splash down, wearing too much cologne and hopeful expressions. After swimming a lap or two and scoping the situation, they get into a wing-flapping fight over who was the first to call “dibs” on the one with the long brown feathers.

The females try to act oblivious to this roughhousing, but if you pay close attention you’ll see that their tails begin to gyrate whenever one of the males is looking. Ornithologists call this early mating display by the females “Shaking That Old Money Maker.”

Before long, the fights subside and the ducks pair off. This is followed by a languid interlude in which the new couples swim around in gentle, almost romantic arcs. The females keep Shaking Those Old Money Makers, while the males quack nonstop about their exploits on the high school swim team and try to keep their eyes focused on the females above the neck.

As more males arrive, they all attempt to get hooked up with the female with the long brown feathers, so more noisy disputes start up. At this point, while the two males are fighting, the female sometimes takes off with some other guy who apparently managed to convince her that his Escort is just a loaner from the Porsche dealership.

There are generally quite a few more male ducks than females hanging around, so there is always the potential for a bit of turmoil and turnover. Luckily, some of those extra males seem to be either a little bit limp-winged or just plain practical-minded – if you get my drift.

The action in Club Mallard really gets hopping late at night. I think they actually bring in a band on weekends, because we keep hearing the song, “Waaaaak Waaaaak Waaaaak Waaaaak Waaaaak,” along with the classic, “Waaaaak Waaaaak.”

For the last week or so I’ve been thinking of cashing in on Club Mallard by creating an online version. I think I’ll call it “Hatch.com.”

Copyright © 2008, Michael Ball. Distributed exclusively by North Star Writers Group. May not be republished without permission.