I’m planning on building an ark. It’s clear that it’s never going to stop raining and I feel that it’s my duty. Somebody has to act to secure the future of humanity and all the wildlife being put at risk by these everlasting dark skies and wet days.
Luckily, my garden backs onto a river, so launching it won’t be a problem. I have drawn some detailed pictures and I’m sure I’m up to the task of the construction. After all, I’m pretty nifty at putting up shelves and when it comes to flat-pack furniture I can’t be beaten. Not that I’m expecting IKEA to include an ark in their catalogue, but a combination of different units could well do the trick.
No, the problem that’s taxing my brain at present is the wildlife. Clearly I’m not going to travel around the world collecting creatures from every continent, and in any case an ark big enough for elephants and the like wouldn’t fit in my garden. In fact, this is a clear flaw in Noah’s story, if you think about it, but that’s allegory for you. You can stretch the boundaries of credibility to a great extent in the cause of a morally significant message.
My issue is the diversity of the wildlife I am likely to trick into boarding my ark. Or, to be clear, the lack of it. I can guarantee that the ducks that visit my garden will not be a problem. A trail of food leading to the vessel will secure the future of mallards in my new world. I could gather a couple of domestic pets, and maybe trap a few mice and rats, but the only other four-legged animal to visit my garden is the nocturnal fox captured on my wildlife camera. He is not likely to be easily lured onto my ark and nor are the cunning corvids who spend their days working out how to raid the bird feeders put out for smaller, prettier birds.
And then, of course, there is another issue. Assuming for the moment that I manage to trick the fox and the other representative mammals and birds, how am I going to stop the fox eating the ducks? And what if the ducks manage to hatch a clutch of eggs? Somebody will eat the ducklings as they do every year on the river, and then I’ll feel even more responsible than I do when I fail to scare off the gulls and watch, helpless, as one little fluffy bundle after another is snatched from the river and flown away, cheeping plaintively.
I seem to have started to talk myself out of this project. Maybe the wildlife will have to take care of itself. And if, one day, we humans meet a sticky end, it will probably do even better without us. Added to that, I’ve just noticed something. There’s a watery light in the sky that could possibly turn out to be the sun. Now all I need to do is catch a raven, or should it be a dove?
Image Credits: Julie McLaren .
Very amusing and entertaining! What a good writer you have here.