Don’t Duck the Issues

Being British, I am unafraid of rain and regard it almost as a patriotic duty to head out for a blustery stroll in inclement weather, which will later be rewarded by a cup of tea, a biscuit, and a change of socks by a roaring fire.  I have passed this peculiar cultural masochism on to Four and One, and whenever skies look even vaguely grey, they go running for umbrellas, raincoats and Wellington boots in a frenzy of excitement. I find their enthusiasm very sweet and touching, and also hard evidence that they are truly Californian and have no idea what it’s like to live in that climate every day of the year (except the two weeks of sunshine that happen when you are on holiday in France where it freakily rains).  

That would certainly take the shine off the puddles for them.

Fortunately, however, where we live they are unlikely to have to suffer that or other English miseries like standing in queues as a national pastime or the scholastically enforced consumption of boiled suet pudding. 

 

Our favourite walk is around a little lake surrounded by woods and meadows on the land of a local historic house, now a museum, that we pretend we live in when we pass.  When it has been raining, there are many little pools of water along the path that one can splash and even wade through, as well as satisfying swathes of mud inhabited by worms that can be examined and kept as pets (Four) or eaten (One). The highlight of the trip (in fact the entire point as far as the children are concerned) is the feeding of the ducks and geese that may clamber up a muddy bank to crowd round visitors with honks and quacks of hungry anticipation. At least that is what usually happens.

 

Today, for reasons I shall not bore you with, we only got ourselves there after the rain had dried up and the sun come out, and clearly several other people had also decided to take a leisurely promenade around the water.

As we arrived at the ducks’ habitat, we witnessed a woman and two girls upending a bulging brown paper shopping bag and littering the ground with waste.

Popcorn, broken potato chips, french fries (ketchup on some), pretzel sticks, pieces of tortilla, Pirate Booty, those violently orange cheesefood sandwich crackers that stick to your teeth when you eat them, half eaten cookies, bits of old pizza with the pepperoni still stuck on it. 

The smell alone was sickening, and the sight of all this junk food strewn across the earth in the middle of an otherwise idyllic pastoral scene was deeply disturbing.

Once they had shaken the last Ritz cracker from the sack, the larger of the girls charged the birds, sending them into the water in a huge panicky flurry, and then, having some pressing sortie with a Big Mac, no doubt, the three turned and left with a cheery smile in our direction.

My jaw dropped and I began to splutter with indignation. Husband put a quiet restraining hand on my elbow. Four started to cry. One gleefully ran forward to grab a soggy french fry.

 

What should be an innocent and early encounter with nature that has been enjoyed by children for generations had somehow, for me, been turned into a symbol of everything that is wrong with our current attitude to the planet and all who inhabit her, including ourselves.

 We seem to have lost the barometer of how much is enough, and how to think about others and what their needs are and what is fair.

In the context of the world, we have 3% of the population and we consume 25% of the energy – clearly not quite right – and we are busy exporting our waste to poorer places and we think that they should be grateful for it because they surely need the money. We don’t care what that looks like for us – we are too busy battling with the desperate need to increase the GDP so we can buy more stuff that will spend a brief time in our homes before going to landfill (along with all its packaging), and we don’t care what it looks like for them because they are not here, they are not our friends, and they need to have some kind of income in order to buy the same stuff that we have because we’re so incredibly happy, so we convince ourselves we’re actually being nice by polluting their space.

In the context of the ducks, we should remember that feeding them is not good for them; it’s only good for us for entertainment purposes, and if you’re not going to stay for the entertainment, why are you dumping your crap on them?  

It’s hard to tell a little one that they can’t throw a handful of corn amongst a flock of twenty waterfowl, but how hard is it to explain to a child of any age that it is morally questionable to throw a weeks’ worth of garbage on the ground which will make the animals ill, stress the wildlife, and then walk away leaving rotting food underfoot which attracts vermin and aggressive undesirables (like seagulls) and furthermore deprives anyone else who follows you that day from having a pleasurable experience? 

I was disturbed by this for the rest of the day and unhappily googled duck feeding habits and toyed with the idea of building a sign or handing out flyers at the lake (which of course I will never do.)  However, I have come up with some brief bullet points on duck feeding etiquette. Please adhere and pass it on to everyone you know.

TEN RULES OF DUCK FEEDING ETIQUETTE

 

1. Don’t feed the ducks. It’s bad for them.
2. If you have to feed them, follow these guidelines.
3. Don’t give them your leftovers. DON’T GIVE THEM BREAD
4. Take cracked corn, some lettuce or waterfowl pellets from the pet store
5. Feed a SMALL AMOUNT to the birds.
6. Leave them some impetus to forage for themselves
7. Remember the next child wants to enjoy them too.
8. Don’t frighten them or allow your children or dog to chase them.
9. Don’t leave your garbage there. Anything they didn’t eat, pick up and take with you.
10. Have a nice day.