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Journalism of Courage
Spring is in the air, can romance be far behind? And in the animal kingdom, it’s mostly the ladies that dictate the moves. As I am most familiar with birds, let’s start off with them. Take our peacock. By February and March, they are already dragging their enormous tasselled trains behind them, trying to prevent them from getting entangled in branches, razor wire, or the claws of a leaping tiger or leopard. No bird with any commonsense would encumber itself with this extravagance, no matter how gorgeous it might be. But ah, the ladies, in their dull dun shawls, love it.
Not only that they want the dude to dance for them, while they pretend to be more interested in picking up grubs from the ground. So he has to fan out this huge bejewelled satellite dish over his head, waggle his bottom non-stop and mewl away through the day. (One performance I watched went on from 9 am till 7 in the evening). Of course, this is not all, because usually there are other gentlemen peacocks trying to impress the ladies at the same time. So there has to be a battle: which no doubt the ladies enjoy, too. Like noblemen in a duel, the males will fly at each other, but I think they have enough sense not to really damage one another. Either way they are meal invites for any lurking predator. I guess the ladies might see it this way: If this knockout dude, carrying that massive fabulous bejewelled train can escape a predator – well, that’s what I want my babies to be able to do, too…
Another local bird that has to put in a performance is the magpie-robin, all decked up in a shiny tuxedo first thing in the morning. He has genuine talent as a flautist, but so does every other tuxedoed fellow. So he has to break off his Mozart compositions, and, incoherent with rage, chase the intruder away, his coat-tails flying, which leaves you in splits and the lady he’s playing for looking on with wide, innocent eyes. I once watched a pair of gentlemen koels, all silky greeny-black, with glaring ruby eyes, yodel manically into each other’s faces, while the dappled brown lady they were interested in, watched them – and then slunk off with a third gentleman, who suddenly materialised behind her and spirited her away.
This kind of thing happens with mammals too: A pair of rhesus dons (or baboons) will fly at each other hammer and tongs, fangs bared ferociously, while the lady at the centre will sidle off behind the bushes with the cute wimp that has suddenly taken her hand. (He decamps very quickly afterwards). This happens even in patriarchal set-ups that antelope, zebra and buffalo have: The herd boss has a hard time ensuring all the girls in his harem are accounted for – and only by him. Roving-eyed bachelors are always hanging around at the edges and the ladies are not about to blow the whistle on them! Well, you could say, good for them, harems are not what should be happening nowadays anyway. What’s a bit upsetting is when a boss male victoriously defends his harem from a succession of challengers, but then, totally exhausted, can’t match a final challenger, who has been coolly biding his time just for this. Thankfully, the ladies are not always so fickle. In one moving episode, I saw a dada baboon had got beaten up by a challenger, but his bevy of wives stuck by him nevertheless, massaging his bruised ego and telling him they still loved him.
Some ladies test their paramours in different ways. I once watched a documentary where a lady polar bear led her prospective partner on a stamina-testing endurance trail up and down an ice-covered mountain. Well, if she could do it, he jolly well ought to even if he were twice or thrice her weight. Other ladies are more interested in accommodation: the baya weaver is one such species, where the ladies make a thorough examination of the graceful vase-like residences the gentlemen have made, ensuring they are up to their seven-star standards. No gold-plated faucets? Well, no, thank you then, cheapskate!
It seems like this kind of picky-choosy behaviour on the ladies’ part, has made the gents of many species, manically paranoid. Male dragonflies after the honeymoon will escort their ladies to the plant stalks in the water where she lays her eggs, ensuring he is the father of their progeny. Many males behave in an even more reprehensible fashion: They will hunt and kill the young of the females by other males, usually those they have bested in battle. No foster-daddy business, here. Of course, scientists will tell you this is all the machinations of genetics, and which is why the ladies, too, resignedly accept the brute that has butchered their babies.
In the world of tiny-tots, it’s the girls who call the shots and go to extremes. Lady spiders and lady praying mantis chomp up their paramours after the honeymoon, harvesting their protein for their forthcoming family.
But yes, thankfully there are genuine life-long love stories, too. Birds like albatrosses and cranes, pair for life. The seabirds lovingly meet again after months of separation over the oceans. In most cases though, especially where there are single-mom families, it’s the ladies who pick and choose whom they want to be with. But occasionally you can’t help but feel sorry for the dumbass beefcake they’re taking for a royal ride… ladies please, desist – he’s an idiot.
