Nature's Miracle at My Back Door

Proverbs 12:10 states;

"The righteous person regards the life of his animal."

This statement provides the perfect counterpoint to;

"God is good to all, and God's tender mercies are over all creatures" (Ps. 145:9).

In Judaism, one who is cruel to animals cannot be regarded as a righteous individual. This commonly held ideal is summarized in the Hebrew phrase ts'ar ba-alei chayim, the biblical mandate to not cause pain to any living creature. And while we bi-peds are consistently exerting our dominion over the less formidable, it is our sacred duty to protect, cherish, and reduce their suffering whenever the opportunity arises.

Such has been our month-long encounter with our duck squatter. Removing the nest that Mama Mallard dug into my geranium flower box would have been oh so easy. Destroying the eggs would have required no thought whatsoever. The idea of little ones soiling the backyard and pool area was not one easily swallowed, and several people told me to simply ditch the duck. But, I just couldn't bring myself to do it. You see...I have to at least attempt to live by the premise of not causing undue pain to any living creature. Moving the nest would have been cruel and torturous to the mother. Destroying the life that she created was unthinkable. My guilt overwhelmed me. So instead, we allowed the miracle to play itself out on our deck. And what a miracle it turned out to be!

We interacted with nature in a way that is almost unthinkable here in the suburbs. Our Mama Duck became quite calm in our presence once she knew that we meant neither her nor her eggs harm. She simply understood that we were sharing the space, and we in turn became enraptured by her routine. There wasn't a day that passed that both The Husband and I weren't staring and gaping at this patient and most probably bored mama doing what comes naturally. We were totally captivated.

There also wasn't a day that passed whereby some friend, either in real life or via the connection of social media, didn't enquire as to the health and well-being of our duck. Regular updates became a necessity by virtue of the constant questioning. We embraced the new-found celebrity. We posted pictures, blog posts, videos, and even the odd satire or two. Friends (and friends of friends) were now emotionally invested in the well-being of our mallard. We sought out advice from experts in the subject, and even those authorities kept up with us through regular email and phone call briefings.

This past Monday, I begged The Husband to set up a webcam. We knew that this whole experience was coming close to its end and so many people wanted to be in on the fun. It wasn't an easy venture given the outdated equipment that we had on hand, but my genius was able to make it work and on Tuesday we began sharing our duck with the world. Our timing was perfect. On Wednesday afternoon the magic started. The fledglings began hatching. We were glued to the live-stream and to our backdoor windows watching as one by one little heads, eventually totalling eight, began poking up through Mama's wing feathers. We were live-chatting with friends from across the continent as they joined us in watching our little miracle unfold. We answered questions as best we could, all the while totally engrossed.

Yesterday was the piece de resistance. As daybreak arrived, The Husband urgently summoned me downstairs to watch the little guys literally leap off of the railing and follow Mama into the pool for their first swim.

What followed was an extended comical farce of attempting to help the babies out of the pool. Mama didn't give much thought to that end of the deal. They can't yet fly and are certainly too small to jump out on their own. Watching The Husband, clad only in sweat pants, run around with a skimmer net in the pouring rain trying to help reunite mother and children was priceless, but so in keeping with our credo of ts'ar ba'alei chayim. 

And then....just as suddenly as it began, it was over. The ducks moved on to greener areas and murkier waters, probably to the pond a kilometre or so north of us. Last night The Husband remarked that we are now true empty nesters.

We will miss our friends, but I have no doubt, given the migratory and imprinting habits of mallards, that we will see them again.

When James Gandolfini passed away earlier this month, I couldn't stop thinking about the myriad of scenes during the run of The Sopranos in which Tony is either feeding the ducks or just watching them  paddle happily in his pool. These creatures continually bring such joy and peace to this extraordinarily tormented character.

Even brutal Tony Soprano understood the balance that needs to exist between humanity and nature.

We have been blessed this month. We know it and we wouldn't have done it any differently. Thanks for coming along for the ride.

Baruch atah Adonai Eloheinu Melech ha-olam
She-kacha lo B'olamo

Blessed are You Adonai our God, Ruler of the Universe
Who has given us such things in the world.

Some Burning Questions Answered

As we patiently await the upcoming hatch-fest that will most certainly define the summer of 2013, I thought that I would take this opportunity afforded by this boring period of downtime to answer some of your burning mallard-related questions. These are some of the most common queries that I have been asked over the last three weeks--some in person--many more through email and social media.

Q. "What's her name" or "Why don't you name her?"

A. I don't want to name her for the simple reason that she is not a pet. She is a wild animal and she needs to stay that way in my mind. Naming her, even in jest, would give her a permanence in my life that will only be heart-wrenchingingly difficult to part with when she and her babies eventually fly the coop or geranium box as the case may be. I know. I'm a suck.

Q. "When will the ducklings hatch?"

A. According to our research, a typical mallard will tend her nest for 28-30 days following the first egg laid. Since the first egg was discovered three weeks ago this coming Sunday, our best guess for hatching is next weekend, Canada Day. I have an all-Canadian duck! I am only hoping that we are home to witness the blessed event. There is every possibility that we may return home on one of those weekend days to a duckling-filled pool. Which leads me to....

Q. "When will the babies be able to fly?"

A. Hold onto your weaves! Environment Canada tells us not before 50 days. 50 DAYS!! No, we are not going to house them for the remainder of the summer. Our expert has told us that when we see them in the pool, we are to gently scoop them up with a strainer, place them in a box outside of the pool gates and mama will come to lead them away. Let's hope that happens.

Q. "Won't they hatch over a period of eight days since they were laid over a similar period?"

A. Not according to the experts. (Thanks to Environment Canada's special wildfowl biologist!) The most likely scenario is that they will hatch over a 24 hour time frame.

Q. "Why didn't you just move the box and let her abandon the nest?"

A. This is actually the most posed question so far. Why? Well frankly, because I just couldn't bring myself to do it. I realize that my deck probably isn't the best place to nest and hatch ducklings, but honestly it is one of the safest. We don't get all that many mallard predators visiting, (f***ing squirrels excepted) and it is my belief that we have encroached on her habitat just as much as she has on ours. I get it. It is my house. But something about the natural order of this whole thing really does appeal to my holistic sense of balance. She has not created any hazard or fouled (pun!!) any of our space. We are able to use our pool and surrounding areas, including our back door, (she has become as strangely comfortable with us as we have with her) so I have chosen to just leave her be. 

Q. "Where is Daddy Duck during all of this waiting?"

A. Where you might typically expect a fun-loving male who is on the precipice of becoming an octo-dad to be---out with the boys. We personally haven't seen Dad in more than three weeks, but my neighbour told me that he saw him very early one morning, paddling in the pool and checking in on the Mrs.  Even though mallards mate for life and are said to be monogamous, it is my guess that he is out on the nearby pond playing poker and smoking cigars with all of the other expectant fathers looking for one last fling. 

Q. "Do you feed her?"

A. On this point I am unequivocal. ABSOLUTELY NOT!! She is a wild animal who is quite capable of sourcing her own meals. Remember I told you that she hasn't been soiling our pool area? Well, I am quite convinced it is partly the result of her eating elsewhere. Ducks are omnivores. I am certain that she would happily eat if I fed her, but I just think it is best if she fends for herself. By the way, while many of us spent hours in our formative years feeding bread and other carb-laden products to ducks, it is really unhealthy for them. It is the equivalent of junk food for waterfowl; a kind of Big Mac for mallards. It can lead to unhealthy weight gain and changes in mating and migratory behaviour. So, don't do it.

Q. Aren't you concerned that mallards are creatures of habit and will return next year for the sequel?

A. Yes and no. Yes I would like her to nest elsewhere and yes we are already taking steps to ensure that this occurs. We will remove the flower boxes once the babies have departed and we will stop any nesting if it occurs next year, but that is the future and I am living in the now. Currently, I am entranced and enthralled by nature arriving and playing out squarely on my doorstep. I find myself watching her a lot and I know that she is also watching me. We have bonded. I know that sounds deluded, but it is true. I am convinced that she knows me and feels that she can trust me. I can come and go without incident, and she inherently understands that nobody here will hurt her or disrupt her nest. It has been a truly fascinating experience.

So there you have it. If I haven't answered your question, put it in the comments section below and I will to the best of my ability. I realize that to some of you I seem obsessed with this small natural miracle playing out in my backyard, but honestly it is so beautiful to me. So much so that describing it adequately has been difficult. Keep you posted.

The Thornhill Mallard

A guest post today courtesy of The Husband. This is how he spent last evening. Obsessed with our duck visitor. For those of you not in on the joke, relax it's a Canadian thing. In order to understand check out Hinterland videos on YouTube.

Just a side note...My guy is brilliant and deceptively funny. This project is just tangible proof of those qualities.

A Ducking F*** Follow-up

As posted last week, our deck has become a home for unwed ducks. As of last evening Momma Mallard (I fear giving her a pet name because frankly, while I find the whole situation fascinating, I really want her to do her biological business and leave us to resume proper summer use of our backyard) was squatting on an "eight is quite enough" pack of ready-made omelettes.

Ms Duck hasn't left the nest for more than a half an hour at a time, and for no more than once or twice a day. You can't say that the girl lacks commitment.

But here's the rub. The weather is improving and we would like to use the pool. Every time we even attempt to open the back door, she squawks, moults, and flies off in a rage. She has also taken to soiling the pool on occasion, but nothing that we can't handle with some diligent cleaning and chemicals. Our research has taught us that this could be another month in the nesting and hatching process. Not only that, it is said that when mallards like a location, they tend to make it a yearly experience, kind of like Canadian snowbirds jetting to Florida in December. Patience never being one of his strongest virtues, nor at all liking the idea of operating a wetlands retreat, The Husband decided that he would look into what might be involved in humanely relocating our growing avian family.

He started by calling a wildlife removal expert who told him that they would come and move the ducks but that they require a permit. Ok. This is now descending into the complicated. Onward to step 2. He emailed the Department of Wildlife Conservation which apparently (who knew?) is a subset of the Ministry of the Environment. They responded immediately with a phone call. The lovely lady informed him that the ducks could only be removed if they were causing a hazard. (hint hint) He asked if her soiling the pool constituted a hazard and she (far too gleefully for my liking) answered that it did indeed, and that she would issue the permit to remove the ducks and destroy the eggs and nest. The Husband, dedicated vegetarian and environmentalist that he is, told the eager duck killer that we are looking for a humane removal and have no interest in destroying the eggs, nor in sending the mother into immediate shiva. Wildlife Lady responded that she will have a wildlife specific biologist from the ministry contact us to determine if such a method is possible. A wildlife specific biologist!! Our little duck nest has officially become a federal case.

It is so nice to know that my federal tax dollars are hard at work toward the task of saving and rescuing Momma and her unhatchlings. I should note that my federal Member of Parliament just so happens to be the Environment Minister. I wonder if Mr. Kent might come over and remove the family personally. It might be the first environmentally humane thing he has done in his not-so illustrious career.

Nature Comes To My Door

I have made no secret of the fact that I live in the suburbs; an often derided concrete mess of strip malls, Walmarts, uninspired housing designs, and synagogues of every possible denomination. It isn't the most beautiful place in the world to call home, but I love it and feel quite comfortable here. My kids, of course, made a beeline for the urban jungle that is midtown Toronto just as fast as their re-gentrified legs, paychecks, and public transit would take them. Way too cool for the 'burbs, Mom!

I have often lamented at the fast-paced urbanization of my little "City Above Toronto". Where there used to be farmer's markets, there are now condos. Where there used to be horseback riding locales, there are now condos and big box outlets. Where there used to be green space and forestry, there are now condos, big box outlets, and traffic congestion. And...don't forget the toll-activated highway that runs through all of it. This rapid development has meant that indigenous wildlife has been uprooted and displaced. We often see deer roaming the shoulders of the 407. We spy foxes wandering our neighbourhood streets at night. Raccoons, squirrels, chipmunks, and skunk settle in our garages, pools and attics and make messes of our properties. This is the norm for life above the city. We have usurped and stripped them of their homes, so we are left trying to coexist and make peace with the critters. Sometimes we succeed and sometimes we don't. (Squirrels beware!) But, never before have I seen anything quite like the duck family that seems to have made my deck their personal obstetrics ward.

Our mallard friends are frequent visitors. I wrote back in March about how they spent Good Friday paddling happily for hours  in the cover of our yet-to-be-opened-for-the-season pool. They took off that day, and we hadn't seen them again since. We just figured that they were nesting somewhere near the pond that is about a stone's throw from our house. At least that is what we thought until yesterday.

On Saturday, The Husband and I finally decided to get around to completing our spring planting. We had been procrastinating terribly due to some personal issues, but the small boxes on the deck were crying out for some attention, and we purchased some geraniums to brighten up the railings. I spent an hour this past Shabbat lovingly caring for the plants and was immediately cheered by the vibrant flowers. And then...Sunday arrived. We were up early, awakened by the rain. The Husband went downstairs first and called up that I should come and see what those f***ing squirrels had done to my freshly planted blooms.

I went out in the rain, cleaned up the mess, and started to replant when I noticed this....

All I could think of was that now the f***ing squirrels were stealing eggs from unsuspecting ducks or chickens, and hiding them in my flower boxes. I carefully removed the egg (yes the guilt is coming!) and replanted the flowers. All was right with the world again.....until......

Yesterday.

We saw this.

And this....

And then again today this....

And now this...

Just to clarify. This box is two steps from my back door. We are that close.

Needless to say, I feel like a murderer. I have taken to calling it my culling of the flock or, if you prefer, a selective abortion. Please don't send the pro-life crazies to my door. It was an honest mistake, I swear.

We have decided to see where all of this quackery leads. We will leave Mama Mallard alone to tend her young. After all, it is her home too. (According to some diligent online research by The Husband, mallards can lay one egg a day for up to 9 days. I am not certain that my flower box is big enough but we shall see.) I figure that since we bipods have continually infringed on their environment, it is the least that we can do.

A post script. For those of you calling on me to apologize to the f***ing squirrels for accusation without evidence.....it will be a cold day in hell when I do that. Those nasty creatures are responsible for so much mayhem on my property that I cannot  find that kind of forgiveness within me. I still say that while they may not have created this situation, they have created dozens more. I am certain that one day when I descend to the lowest levels of the hot place to spend my eternity, a f***ing squirrel will be there, eating through the cord of the one electrical fan issued to me. It is my destiny. So please understand that they will now and forever be labelled as f***ing squirrels.

A Few Thinks I Think

I know that you have all been waiting with absolute bated breath on my opinions on the latest and sleaziest scandals in cesspool politics. So without further delay.....here we go.

I think....that Rob Ford is a horrible mayor. Not because I truly believe that he is a doped out crackhead and not because he is a boorish oaf with the social graces of a baboon. Believe me, we have had politicians on both sides of the border and on all sides of the political spectrum who have been just as messed up and just as boorish. No, I think that Rob Ford is a horrendous mayor because he simply has no skills in the art of compromise. Municipal politics is at its core about the art of the deal and Mayor Ford is totally inept at the game. It is almost like council is playing chess and he is using checkers' pieces. Budget issues, transit issues, casino issues, waterfront issues...the mayor has been dealt defeat after defeat even when he had the support of many in the "mushy middle", and even when his approval ratings were so high as to intimidate many on council into perhaps supporting his positions for fear of electoral retribution. Rob Ford is a horrible mayor because he allows his successes and his agenda to be obscured by his personal foibles and he has no leadership abilities at all.

I think....that bullying is not leadership.

I think....that Rob Ford is the mayor and that we should stop caring or listening to what Doug Ford says or thinks unless he is your councillor from Etobicoke.

I think....that part of the job of mayor is to be the public face of the city both within its borders and to the world at large. It does matter when the mayor shows up to a function dishevelled, unprepared, unschooled, and uttering incoherent and possibly insulting statements. It reflects badly on our city and worse, on the people who voted for him. For those of you who think that the only job that the mayor has is to watch out for you tax dollars and build you a subway, I would counter that if this is the case then we should stop inviting the mayor to city functions and we should stop expecting him/her to be the city's number one cheerleader.

I think....that people should stop comparing the mayor's bad behaviour to other politician's bad behaviour. It is a straw man's argument that obscures the real problems facing this mayor and this city.

and just for the record...

I think.... that Dalton McGuinty's cancelling of the gas plants was disgraceful, disgusting, extraordinarily wasteful, and politics at its worst. I also think that the IRS scandal south of border is repulsive even though I am a strong opponent of the Tea Party and it's ideals, and I think that the AP spying scandal is an infringement on a free and independent press. Just in case you all thought that my Rob Ford rantings were simply a product of my liberal-leaning views, I take these positions as a matter of course about the cynical and underhanded manner in which politics, all politics, is conducted these days.

I think....that the Toronto Star jumped the gun in publishing the video story. I understand that they were (in their minds) preempted by Gawker, but even though they had been working for months on the story and had two excellent investigative journalists on the job, in my opinion they simply didn't yet have the goods. That isn't to say that the recording (can we please stop calling it a tape. So 1980s!) doesn't exist or that the story isn't accurate, I'm just positing the theory that without Gawker, The Star might have waited until they had more ducks in a row.

And while we are at it....

I think....that people should stop asking reporters if they could bear up to the same scrutiny as the mayor. Who gives a shit? It is irrelevant. Reporters aren't public officials being paid by the taxpayers. If a reporter shows up to work tanked, it is up to his/her boss to determine job action, not the general public. But in the case of the mayor, the general public is the mayor's boss. The comparison is utter nonsense.

And I think....that politicians in general should stop blaming the media for all of their troubles. Is there media bias? Maybe. But, it is the media's job to follow our elected officials and it is the media's job to report it all...good and bad. If politicians want better and friendlier relationships with the media, a good first step might be (oh...I don't know...) to talk to them and answer their questions straight up and forthrightly. In the absence of real communication, the press and the public are making up their own versions of the events. In the words of the great Aaron Sorkin through his characters in The American President:

Lewis Rothschild: They want leadership. They're so thirsty for it they'll crawl through the desert toward a mirage, and when they discover there's no water, they'll drink the sand.

President Andrew Shepherd: Lewis, we've had presidents who were beloved, who couldn't find a coherent sentence with two hands and a flashlight. People don't drink the sand because they're thirsty. They drink the sand because they don't know the difference.

I think....that any politician who thinks that they aren't constantly being photographed, recorded, tweeted, or written about should seriously consider a different line of work. This is the nature of 21st century politics and public life. Deal with it.

I think....that while I am loathe to admit it, I do not believe in a recall system for our elected officials that falls short of a criminal act. I agree that this mayor has fallen well short of expectations in his job, and I also agree that if he were in the private sector his ass would have been toast a long time ago, but that simply isn't the same for a democratically elected public official. Recalls (and impeachments) have created havoc in the United States and are often used for the most partisan and baseless reasons. The bar for evicting a mayor should be high. That said....I do think that we are almost at that bar.

I think....that a non-denial denial is not a denial.

I think....that a non-apology apology is not an apology.

I think....that ideologues on both sides of the political spectrum are hurting the cause of real progress and real change.

I think....that Rob Ford shouldn't be concerned about a challenge from his left, but rather a challenge from his right. I believe that the backroom conservative money people are desperately trying to find a candidate to run in 2014 that will be credible, intelligent, and can push forward the agenda without the circus of Rob Ford. I can't believe that anybody actually believes that we will see any high profile conservatives step forward to endorse Mr. Ford next year and come up with cash for the coffers. Tim Hudak will be AWOL this summer at the Ford family barbecue as will Prime Minister Harper and Finance Minister Flaherty. They simply cannot afford the political flak. My money is on a high profile person with conservative bona fides stepping forward to take on the mayor next year. And....

I think....that this person will win.

So there you have it. Remember. MY OPINION. If you do not agree, ok. But if you do choose to comment I ask for you to be polite, not snarky, not sanctimonious, and please show some intelligence. If you cannot adhere to those rules, I will simply flush your comment. My space, my rules.

From the Haze of Anaesthesia

I took The Husband to the oral surgeon this morning. Following a horrendous experience with a dead tooth, damaged nerve, and a subsequent extraction, he had an implant inserted into the hole where the tooth once lived. This isn't the first time that he has had this procedure, so both of us are experienced in the method and the aftercare. I went along for the ride because given the fact that he was placed under a general anaesthetic, driving himself would have been a criminal offence and cause for a flunked sobriety test.

Aside from absolutely freezing in the waiting room, (it is really cold here today and the office air conditioning was still on) the procedure went like clockwork. After it was over, the nurse came to pry my frozen butt from the chair and led me into the recovery room where The Husband was just coming  down off of the juice. Call me a miserable wife, but I always get a kick out of this time alone with him. He is absolutely goofy and loopy and he says the craziest things that he never remembers sober. Today was no exception. And so I thought I'd share a few of today's gems with the masses. (In light of the continual mess swirling around Toronto City Hall, I would like to offer the following qualification. This is what hard drugs do to a very intelligent and soft-spoken man. Imagine what they could do to our loveable Mayor MacCheese. So kids, a warning....don't do crack!)

• As I first walked into recovery, The Husband, all droopy-eyed and puffy in the cheeks, said in a very loud and slurring voice "Take off your shirt, I want to play!" That's my guy!
• He was connected to a heart monitor that was fastened to his index finger. Unbeknownst to either me or the nurse, he pulled it off causing an alarm to sound. He told me "Fix the radio. I want to hear Q107."
• Lying on the table and drooling blood, he decided that it was a great time to take out his phone. Of course he couldn't see anything because he wasn't wearing his glasses, but he proceeded to magnify his mail and read the entire e-signature from a friend, complete with address and phone number. Why this was urgent, I will never know.
• After the nurse sat him up, he decided that just sitting there didn't provide him with enough distraction. "I'm bored," he declared. "Get me a toy!" He then grabbed the sphygmomanometer (blood pressure cuff for all of you luddites) and started squeezing it....hard!
• The nurse came in to brief me on the aftercare. He actually thought that she was talking to him and kept answering her with the same non-sequetor after each instruction. "Scotch." It is kind of nice to know that at least he is consistent whether plastered or sober.
• And just to complete the experience, as I helped him on with his jacket he grabbed my breast. It's a guy thing. I suppose I should be happy that it was me who helped him instead of the nurse.

The meds are now wearing off and he has gone from goofy to cranky. It's ok. For a brief moment in time, The Husband could actually have pulled off a stand-up routine.