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I get it. Bald eagles are majestic. Their recovery from endangered species status is a triumph of conservation. As a symbol, they inspire national pride.

Splash an eagle decal across the back window of your truck and everyone knows where you stand, even if you're not entirely sure what's behind you. Hear an eagle calling across a river valley and suddenly we recite the preamble to the United States Constitution with tears in our eyes.

But let's be honest. Eagles, the birds, not the band, enjoy some of the best branding in the world. These are flying trash pandas. They'll stick their heads into the parts of roadkill deer that make ravens shudder. For every adroit eagle we see snatching a fish from the sky-blue waters of Minnesota we find three more fighting over gut piles on shore.

Nevertheless, our fascination with eagles is undeniable. The most obvious manifestation might be the popularity of the EagleCam from the Minnesota Department of Natural Resources. Here, people flock by the thousands to view eagles raising their hatchlings, which eventually fledge before our very eyes.

That's why it was such a surprise when a mallard landed in the EagleCam nest to lay her eggs last week. That's right, a common mallard, the duck you imagine when someone says "duck!"

We live in a hurricane of news these days and it's hard to keep up. But this story got me to stand up and say, "YES!" The stones on that duck, the absolute stones. Here, perched high above the earth, a small duck resists its greatest enemy and deepest fears all in one maternal gambit.

Every day I talk to people who are afraid.

People who have dedicated their lives to service wonder if they'll have jobs and what will happen to the people they help.

People trained to speak and write effectively talk about what they're afraid to say, and what will happen if they do.

People who have worked a lifetime wonder if society will kick up much fuss when their pensions and medical coverage are cut to shreds.

A human being, it should be noted, is not only 100 times larger but considerably wealthier and more articulate than a mallard, though that last point could be questioned in certain instances.

This got me thinking about the human equivalent of this mallard's brave move. What are we capable of?

We might become the small-business owner who reclaims space in the hollowed-out guts of downtowns and neighborhoods.

Perhaps we may speak with kindness and curiosity to a world that shouts down questions.

It is the rural Minnesotan who takes in a show in Minneapolis, and the lifelong metro kid who seeks opportunity where traffic thins and gravel byways beckon.

It is doing the right thing, not the easy thing. Perhaps it is also those of us who change our minds, who learn and grow as evidence mounts.

Above all, we may offer creativity and hope amid the boredom and casual cruelty of modern life.

Too often we are told what is out of reach, a growing list that includes once-basic goals like a house and a better job. Mother Duck just showed us that we can reach higher, much higher, if we want to.

We know this could turn out badly. The eagle's nest bears an unfortunate resemblance to a serving platter. We might safely presume that ducklings taste delicious. The original owners of the aerie are nesting nearby, perhaps waiting for the ducks to fatten up before offering them to their own offspring.

Being courageous doesn't mean things will automatically turn out well. If many are courageous, however, bad things can't happen to all of us. We might cheer for this nascent family of mallards, and the audacity of their mother, but they don't have to succeed for mallards to continue. Up in the sky, they take the heat off mallards everywhere.

The other day I walked down to the lake near our house to confirm that we had open water. I scared up about 12 mergansers who had been feeding in the little swamp that connects our land to the water. Sitting by the shore, I marveled at their survival instincts. Then I noticed the ducks were swimming back to finish their meal. The quacking grew louder, more forceful. I thought, "Hey, I could fight a duck." I could fight two ducks. But 12 ducks? The math didn't add up.

I decided to cede the ground to its rightful owners. It was the right decision.

A lesson for everyone, I suppose. The ice is out. Truth and righteousness can prevail. Let's ducking go.