Muskrat Love

by Jonathan Shipley

Valentine’s Day at the marsh is different than, say, at the Harvey House downtown—couples enjoying a fine meal. It’s different than, say, the Bartell Theatre, where the timeless love affairs from Romeo and Juliet and A Midsummer Night’s Dream are staged for swooning romantics in the audience. Valentine’s Day at the marsh is different from candlelit bedrooms.

A Valentine’s Day at the marsh might be a white-tailed doe coming into heat during a 24- to 36-hour time frame. A buck smells that she is in heat and will single her out to try and breed. The doe doesn’t have to breed if she doesn’t want to breed. If she decides not to, she’ll come into heat again about a month later.

Photo by Jonathan Shipley

Meanwhile, bucks will spar, rub their antlers on trees, scrape the ground, spread their scent, and show their dominance so that the alpha buck will have his choice of does. A buck will breed with multiple does in one season.

Elsewhere, coyotes are getting smitten with each other. They court. They wrestle. They chase. They mark each other with scent. They groom each other. They bump into one another. They sleep curled together. Coyotes form strong, often lifelong, pairs. A vixen typically has a litter of four to seven pups. There are howls over the marsh.

A Valentine’s Day in Madison—bundled-up lovers tie their boots, walk to the end of Picnic Point, see the ice and lights and the Capitol just there. They hug tightly under cold dark skies.

Muskrats kissing before mating. Photo by Susan Hodgson, Shutterstock.

It’s not yet time, on Valentine’s Day, for the marsh’s muskrats. They pair up around April. Males compete for real estate and mates. Monogamous muskrat couples establish territories that can be around 100 feet in diameter. They rarely leave their grounds. Lower-rung muskrats have to toddle off and find their own less desirable territories. Muskrat love is not always easy.

Madison on Valentine’s Day? A date at the Mansion Hill Inn. Cocktails, a little jazz ensemble playing “In a Sentimental Mood.” Lovers sip creamy pink squirrels in dainty glasses  to the strains of “Someone To Watch Over Me.” “At Last My Love Has Come Along.”

Monarch butterflies, in contrast, are aggressive. Come summer, males will patrol milkweed patches, using pheromones from hind-wing pockets to entice females. The courtship involves aerial flights, and the males tackle females to the ground. They can stay coupled for up to 16 hours. That bears repeating: 16 hours.

But Valentine’s Day in Madison—couples do chasses, lovers do lutzes, spouses do salchows at the Edgewater rink for a Valentine’s Day Disco Skate. Love melts hearts—and hopefully not the ice.

Sandhill cranes dance—leaping, wings flapping, throaty calls. Monogamous, often for the rest of their lives, they dance. They build nests, together. They incubate their eggs, together. They raise their young, together. If they raise healthy chicks their bond strengthens, together.

Valentine’s Day is different at the marsh than in town. But, then again, perhaps not. Two coyotes cuddle as two over-the-moon Mononans quietly canoodle. A muskrat kisses its mate, while a Middleton spouse does likewise. A lovely deer is in the woods, while hand-in-hand along the lake, a Madisonian says, “I love you, dear.”