“What’s that duck doing over here?” DH and I were getting out of the truck. My only perk at work is a great parking place in the front of the building. (DH and I work for the same company.) It is a beautiful place with a big pond in the front grounds. As we hauled our stuff out of the truck, a duck slooooooowly waddled by on the driveway, looking very nonchalant, but not coming near us. “I’ll bet she has a nest!” Dear Husband disagreed, stating it was too late in the season for baby ducks. In fact, all the other ducks had left for the season, and this lone duck seemed lost. Was she injured or did she just “miss the bus” when they all took off for northern climates? We entered the building and forgot about her.

The next week, one of my co-workers said, “Anyone want to take turns sitting on eggs?” Well, yes, we looked at her strangely–until she explained that a Mama Duck had built a nest with 5 eggs in it and Mama wasn’t around. My co-worker was worried about the eggs. So it WAS a nest! I didn’t mind rubbing that one in.

The nest was only a few feet from where we park, a haven built deep down in a large planter bordered by wooden beams and full of ground cover. I probably would have never seen it if my co-worker hadn’t seen her near it. When on the nest, the top of Mama’s head was below the thick ground cover.

We looked for her every day. Most days we could just barely see her head as she sat stoically on the nest, ever alert to danger. Once DH got just close enough to take her picture, and she sat still as a statue. The “I’m not here, ain’t nobody here” syndrome. Occasionally she would be taking a winsome glide on the pond whose surface was smooth as clear glass. She seemed to be pondering her babies, as all mothers-to-be do. Was she worried about being a single parent? Did she worry that her babies would be healthy? We checked the eggs while she was gliding. I was so amazed at how large they were. We marveled that all those huge eggs came out of one little duck. She must have been loaded!

She was the star of the parking lot. Excitement grew in the office as we wondered how long it would be before the eggs would hatch. We couldn’t wait to see little baby ducks skimming the pond, bobbing in Mama’s wake.

She was a good mother. She knew exactly what to do, and did it with all her might. She was a queen sitting on the nest, regal in her new status as a mom-to-be. We wondered whether she would stay at the pond with her babies or wait till they were big enough and shoo them off to meet up with their community.

One morning, as DH pulled the truck into the parking space, we saw a woman poking around the nest. “What is she doing!” It was a statement, not a question. If people kept pestering Mama……. I stepped out of the truck.

“Something ate her.”

“What do you mean something ate her? The duck?”

The woman pointed behind us to the lush green strip of grass between the truck and the pond. The grass was covered with down. Covered. Zillions of feathers and clumps of down. “There is no evidence of her–just feathers,” the woman said. “Something got her on the nest. There is blood everywhere,and the eggs are cold.”

Oh my gosh. I didn’t want to see it, but DH checked on the eggs. All 5 eggs were intact. But orphaned. Cold. Lifeless. Just like their mother–wherever she was. What got her? A bird? A coyote? A dog? We never knew. It could have been anything.

Mama Duck protected her family to the bitter end. If she had any warning of danger, she did not abandon her children. She apparently stood her ground and fought valiantly, protecting her children beneath her. But it was wasted sacrifice. There was no one to keep the eggs warm. No one to nurture them into this world. No baby ducks. Nothing but the feathered reminder of mass destruction.