The minute there’s a whiff of serious spring, the mallards of Central Park couple up. You see the male, his dark green head following the female, who looks more like a Shaker in her simple brown ensemble while she takes her morning stroll.
He seems proud of his up and coming fatherhood, but don’t let his attentiveness fool you.
He’s not such a great husband, from what I’ve read, since after she gives birth, he will hit the road flipping her the bird, so to speak.
She seems unconcerned, her feathers unruffled, since her offspring are more important than that lyin-ass webbed casanova. There’s so much to teach after all…swimming, fishing, grooming, before the kids have ducklings of their own.
Nature once again is making her point how superior women are, because where are those birddogs anyway?
Handing out cigars perhaps? Drunk at some outdoor bistro on Wild Turkey?