Ducklings at the Zoo

 

In 1980, the Seattle zoo was well into its reconstruction project that would free animals from cages to put them into a more natural looking environment. I was walking the perimeter of the renovations, thinking that I had already passed the inhabited exhibits, when I noticed a man-made grotto filled with water and one lone hippopotamus. Well, not exactly alone. A wild duck, not part of the zoo’s exhibit, led its ducklings into the pool. When the hippo noticed their prescence, it chased them onto the ground. As the mother duck led her half dozen offspring away from the hippo’s jaws, a crow dived in from a nearby power line, grabbed a duckling in its beak, and flew away. The mother duck immediately led the remaining ducklings back to the shelter of the grotto. It only took a few seconds for the hippo to notice them and once again chase them to shore where another crow grabbed another duckling. I watched in despair as the duck tried to find safety for her offspring between the hippo and the crows, there was no refuge. Eventually, all the ducklings were crow food.

I note two important lessons from this event. First, that in evolutionary terms, it doesn’t matter how many healthy offspring you have if they don’t survive to maturity. Second, that I was compelled to care about what happened to the helpless ducklings. It is such a common-place, expected emotion, experienced all the time by all healthy people, that we tend to overlook the significance of it. Our compulsion to care isn't an accident. It is a clue to how we evolved to be the most ubiquitous species on earth.

Nancy Sherer

 

 


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