I was all set to discuss betrayal on Facebook today but I decided not to.
Let me explain why:
- I’m not a masochist
- I don’t have time to dwell on people who childishly decide to block me
- Life isn’t a popularity contest
- I can see ducks through my window
- I guess they’re more important than hurt feelings and unanswered questions. So I threw away my original post (Gone! In the bin! So long, sucker!) and started to do some duck research
I’m so glad I did.
From Cuckoos to Ducks? Huh?
You know I’m not a bird person, or as they’re called in professional circles, a Birdologist. I used to think, based on the evidence that Donald Duck always flew in airplanes, that ducks don’t fly.
That’s how much I know about ducks.
“Yes Wendy, I climbed up here, thanks to my portable ladder. I never travel without it”
So when I saw them across the way, I wasn’t sure if I was looking at girls, boys, or one of each. All I knew was that they’d show up every morning around 6, stand on the railing looking towards my office window, quack a lot, and about 3 hours later, they’d fly away. Lyra and Blue loved having them around. So did I. They were kind of fun.
But I wanted to know why they decided to come to a landlocked block in the centre of London. Why not fly the extra 3 minutes and land in the pond in Hyde Park? Dumb ducks.
So, using something called Google (have you heard of it? It’s kind of amazing), I tried to search for information. I tried “Strange duck habits”, “Ducks landing on balcony”, and “Why am I so unpopular? Please help!” but came up with nothing that solved my burning question.
Imagine my shock and blushing horror when at last I Googled “Unusual duck behaviour”, and up came this site addressing the much lauded topic of Homosexual Duck Necrophilia.
Well. Tie my beak and call me speechless.
Of course I had to read on.
Don’t worry, it’s gruesome but it’s also incredibly fascinating.
Fascinating? More like terrifying
Male ducks engage in something charmingly called “rape flights”. These two males were going at it feather and tong when, according to the scientist who was witness to the whole sordid affair (oh Wendy, you’re so judgmental), they crashed into his window and fell, plop!, to the ground, just outside his office.
We see a sitting duck, whereas he sees an opportunity.
He went out to see what was up, so to speak. He found Dead Duck and Lucky Duck, as I now call them. Lucky was furiously pecking Dead Duck’s head. Like, a lot. As in, more than you’d think necessary or prudent in a situation like that.
Once he completed that little task, Lucky jumped Dead’s bones, and there’s no delicate way of putting it, raped him. For 75 minutes.
Isn’t nature amazing?
What Kees Moeliker had witnessed was unique. 10% of ducks are gay, apparently, so they’re not that rare. And sometimes the males do have a go at dead females. But the combination of these two behaviours turned something sort of boringly average, into the realm of “Holy shit, did I really see that?” and “Where’s my camera?”.
The only thing that could improve this story is if the Lucky were also a vampire duck. That would be awesome.
Moeliker won the IgNobel Prize for this one, and I say Bravo to this. Apparently, these ducks have changed his life.
I love this story more and more.
But this is what I really take away from this article: ducks have penises? Wow. How did I not know that. I thought they laid eggs and then kind of sat on them for a while.
I really wish I’d paid more attention in school.
The silver lining of this duck story is, I’m insanely happy that the person who has so rudely blocked me can’t read about my duck news. And whenever I think of her, I now imagine those ducks, which just makes me laugh.
And that’s good. The world needs to laugh more, I always say. Who needs bitterness and hard feelings when there’s nature to explore and necrophiliac gay ducks to spy on?