Nature Blood Red in Tooth and Claw

The months of spring this year have brought a delicious treat to the eyes of bird watchers near the Baypoint Lagoons, a wildlife sanctuary near where I live.
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The months of spring this year have brought a delicious treat to the eyes of bird watchers near the Baypoint Lagoons, a wildlife sanctuary near where I live. On my morning walks I watched baby Mallard ducklings and Canadian goslings waddle about, downed with fuzz. Over the weeks they grew from the size of an apple to that of a cantaloupe. I dreamed of getting a cuddle fix, but the neighborhood ethic requires that we look but don't touch.

Actually, an attempt to cuddle these cuties could result in violence perpetrated by their protective parents. On one occasion when I ventured too close to take a picture of a wild goose family, the ol' man squawked loudly and spread his wings to terrify me. It was effective. I backed away.

Three weeks ago a coyote showed up. The ferocious beast swept into a family of geese and, despite the protective tantrum thrown by the ol' man, the coyote made off with one of the goslings. The picnicking neighbors were outraged. When the pattern became clear that the coyote would appear each dawn and dusk, the watchful neighbors formed a posse, delegating platoons for protecting the birds at the appointed times. Despite this vigilante strategy, the crafty coyote outwitted the human posse and made off with its screaming and bleeding prey at will.

In 1850, nine years before Charles Darwin published On the Origin of Species, Alfred Lord Tennyson penned his famous poem, In Memoriam, in which he described nature as blood "red in tooth and claw." Even though nature can be cruel, my own heart still sang a silent song of joy to know that the hearts of the humans in the neighborhood were caring and protective for these helpless creatures of the wild. Perhaps this empathy means human nature stands above the animal world. Right?

One neighbor, sickened by the violence, called the game warden. The following is not a verbatim, but conveys the gist of the conversation that took place between the neighbors and the wild life expert.

"Something's gotta be done with that coyote," trumpeted one of the neighbors. "Can't you remove the coyote to protect these innocent ducklings and goslings?"

"Now, I do understand your concern," replied the game warden. "What you see is these young chicks brutally kidnapped and killed by the coyote. You see the clamor and grief cause among the families of ducks and geese. Your heart goes out to them. But, there's something you don't see. That coyote is a mother. Hidden away somewhere on the island in the middle of the lagoon is a den. In that den are a number of her pups. Those pups need food to grow, or else they'll die. Those duck and goose dinners the coyote brings home are a matter of life and death. If it's any comfort, I can predict that about two ducklings and goslings in each family will live to adulthood and fly away on their own."

In short, the game warden was repeating what Tennyson had said: whether we like it or not, nature is blood "red in tooth and claw."

The neighbor was not satisfied with the news delivered by the game warden. She balked. She could not in good conscience accept the reality being described here.

With considerable composure, the game warden continued. "Do you eat fried chicken?"

"Yes," said the neighbor.

"Have you ever visited a poultry farm?"

"No."

"Do you like to eat hamburgers?"

"Yes."

"Have you ever visited a slaughterhouse?"

"No."

Understanding human nature is important to me, both as a scientist and as a pastor. It appears to me that we humans have much more in common with that coyote than readily appears. Perhaps Tennyson was right: all of nature--including human nature--is blood "red in tooth and claw."

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