When I was 14, I bought a baby goose, a gosling, only a day or two old. I put him with four young chicks and three young ducklings. They all grew up together. None of them seemingly knew what they were or that they were different from one another. I had to make a dramatic rescue one day when the chickens followed the goose and ducks into the stream in our back yard. Apparently, none of them knowing they couldn’t swim. They floated helplessly on their sides towards a four-foot waterfall. Pretty funny really. To be fair, chickens aren’t the brightest of fowl.
The goose, “Waldo”, was no trouble. He fell in love with Daisy the white duck and got a little aggressive when he thought she was being threatened in any way. Our pet crow “Inky” picked up on this right away and made Waldo’s life a living hell. Constant harassment was his objective and he was successful. But Waldo and his little harem were fun to watch and care for.
So now, some forty years later, I think about dear Waldo and wonder about acquiring another goose. I don’t have a stream, pond or any water to speak of on my property but still somehow think having a goose would be nice. My ever so selfless and compassionate wife never thought to question my reasoning or qualifications for goose ownership, but only wanted for me the desires of my heart. So, my search began.
We live in farm country but no one seemed to have any geese. Hmmm. That should have been my first clue. An on-line search brought up a hatchery in another state, but they would ship no less than eight hatchlings per order. Well, that could only mean eight times the fun, right? I was undaunted. I put in my information, hit the order button and waited for a call from the post office. In the meantime, I made a place ready for them. Food... check, water... check, heat lamp... check, safe place out of harm’s way... check. When the call came, one day later than expected. I rushed down to pick up the magic box that contained the new life that would share our home. Sadly, when I opened the box four were DOA. That extra day without food or water was too much for the weaker ones. They must have shipped them within minutes of hatching as the egg shells were still in the box.
Four soft, fluffy, yellow goslings peeped all the way home. I had no idea what kind they were. It was a mixed batch. They could be any one of five different breeds. That was the deal when I ordered them. Of course, my wife fell in love instantly. Who wouldn’t? Perhaps someone who knew what was waiting in the not-so-distant future. She held them in her hands and brought them up to her face and lovingly told each one how beautiful and precious it was. She sat with them out in the back yard and they all gathered around mother Sharon’s feet peeping and pulling up grassy snacks. When she got up to move, they dutifully followed her where ever she went. They were of course, adorable. A little gaggle of cuteness. Always together, always peeping and always finding trouble. Like the Keystone Cops with webbed feet. The dogs were only mildly amused. Sharing their already limited attention with yet another added group to a steadily growing menagerie was troublesome. They were taking a wait and see approach.
Spring turned to summer and summer to fall. They grew rapidly and it wasn’t long before we could identify the breeds. A pair of Chinese White and a pair of Pomeranians. They out grew one cage, then another. Finally, they were allowed free range of the place during the day but placed in safe quarters for the night. Our home is in the woods and many would be predators work the night shift.
Sharon bought them a small “kiddie pool” from Walmart to swim in. We’d fill it and pull up a couple of chairs and watch them play, swim and bathe. They were pretty comical. They liked everyone and got along just fine with the dogs, chickens and visiting human family and friends.
As they got a little bigger, my wife, who for some reason has always been nervous around birds, began to shy away from their advances. This was around the same time they were reaching adolescence and started to adopt a surly attitude about their personal space. They picked up on Sharon’s nervousness immediately and took full advantage of the opportunity to be dominant and have the upper hand. At first, they would lull her into a false sense of security by pretending to be all social and needy. When they had her surrounded, they would close ranks and nip at her legs and shoes. I would hear her pitiful cries for help mixed with their incessant high-pitched glee filled honking and come running to the rescue. Sometimes she was frozen with fear too afraid to move. The geese took this for open season on the gullible and intensified their attack. To my wife’s credit she was not calling for their heads as she did for the roosters who showed her the same contempt and threw themselves on her at will.
Sharon took to arming herself when she had to leave the house and walk to the car or do any chores around the perimeter of her safe zone. A stick, a shovel or rake. One day I saw her with a pitch fork cautiously looking both ways before opening the gate and stepping out into the “Combat zone.” Years ago, she spent one full summer a virtual prisoner in her own house because of a pet raven who had decided it didn’t like the competition Sharon represented for my attention. After that, she was determined to become a stoic warrior in defense of her right to lead a full and rewarding life on the outside. I applauded her resolve, but it melted away every time some bird sensed her apprehension and turned aggressive.
I received a call one day; Sharon was sobbing from her prison inside our truck. She had gone to feed the chickens and the last rooster that had not yet made it to the chopping block, chased her all the way to the vehicle jabbing her with his spurs the whole distance. This was no joke! He was a huge bird. Easily fifteen pounds. Because my sense of humor is perverse, I laughed. As it turns out, this was not the appropriate thing for me to do. Redemption came only when I followed through with my promise that the bird would not witness another sunrise. We had chicken for dinner that evening. Sharon however, despite her injuries is not a vengeful person and did not enjoy the meal. She truly wants to befriend these animals and resents the fear she has that seems to promote some of the aggression towards her. I don’t know how to help her.
The geese continued to make her life difficult. They also started to go after visiting friends and the dogs. Everyone but me. I would go outside and they would follow me around telling me their stories and if I sat down in a chair or on the grass they would gather around, untie my shoelaces and gently pull on my clothes.
I came home one day and when I walked through the door Sharon’s finger was in my face.
“Look” she said. “Something needs to be done about those geese!” Sharon’s best friend in the world is Terry. Terry loves animals and just has this “need” to touch everything. We were camping once in Okefenokee swamp down in Georgia and there was a ten-foot alligator soaking up some rays at the side of the road. He was minding his own business not hurting a soul. Terry had to touch him. She walked up to it and stroked its tail. She’s one of those people you read about that end up hospitalized after being gored by a buffalo in Yellowstone.
Terry was determined to make friends with the geese and had made great progress. They love apples. So she took some apples out and began feeding them, talking to them real sweet like. All was going well until without warning they decided she had stepped over some invisible line. They pinned her up against the car and were taking turns pinching hunks of flesh and slapping her with their wings. Sharon heard the screams for help and ran outside to rescue her friend. I could only imagine the chaotic scene. This time I didn’t laugh, not out loud anyway. I promised I would find them a new home.
Everyone I asked that I thought was a good candidate for goose ownership gave me a one word answer. “No!” Mr. Cox who has a farm and lots of space had a two-word answer “Hell no!”
We fenced in a large area close to the house so I could hear if anyone bothered them at night and I built a small building for them to get out of the cold in the winter and we locked them up. In the minds of the geese our actions were indefensible. The decibel level of their vocal pleas and protests every time we stepped out the door or worked in the yard made it impossible to carry on any kind of meaningful conversation. In the end it was Sharon who confessed” I feel sorry for them.” (Insert here your own vision of the probable look on my face.) The geese made parole and Sharon started spending more time in the house.
They made it past their first winter and by spring they started laying eggs. Big beautiful delicious eggs. I was hoping they would have a more “gamey” taste but were virtually indistinguishable from what our chickens were offering. However, they were three times the cholesterol and fat. We gave some away to people who made painted Easter eggs and Sharon hollowed out others to paint and make decorations for our Christmas tree.
The eggs were a nice added treat but being protective over a couple of nests made them even more aggressive. They even took a couple of swipes my way. Anything they thought represented a danger was subject to attack. Even if I was carrying something that looked suspicious, like a bucket of feed or water. Getting out of the car with grocery bags in hand turned out to be an incredible violation worthy of the most severe punishment. Anytime company pulled up I would have to go outside and provide a safe escort to the house. If we knew ahead of time someone was coming over we’d check and see where they were. If they were in the back yard we were good. If they were out front an attack was imminent. So, I would go outside and herd them into their pen for the safety of our guests, and to assure our continued friendship.
Their aggression had certainly become a major problem but there were other issues. There was no place that was off-limits to them. Few things in life can be more annoying than a foursome of bossy geese who just don’t understand that not everything belongs to them. The vegetable gardens and flower gardens had to be fenced, and the sheer number of “goose poop land mines” was staggering, so the walkways had to be fenced and gated as well. The place was starting to look like an internment camp.
When things happen slowly over a long period of time you don’t notice the inconvenience as much. When they weren’t attacking the chickens, dogs, or humans and when they weren’t pooping everywhere or getting into the gardens they were kind of fun to have around. Like four miniature dinosaurs roaming the grounds. Sometimes I would look out the window and their bodies would be concealed behind a long row of bushes or plants and just their heads would be visible, floating along in single file on patrol and alert to everything, nothing escaped inspection.
On occasion, when they’re in the mood they’ll accompany us on our walks with the dogs. Up our long winding driveway, across the road, down a path through the forest and home again. The little gaggle following behind in single file chatting the whole way, their bodies rocking back and forth on stubby little legs but their heads always straight and level. They somehow make you feel as though it’s a privilege having them along.
“Thaddeus” the large Pomeranian male is always on guard and will let out a scream at a decibel level that is truly impressive whenever danger lurks close by. “Clarence” the male Chinese white always has to have the last word and sticks his tongue out whenever he verbalizes so it sounds like he’s talking with a lisp. “Iris” the female Chinese white is just a bitch and doesn’t like anyone. She has a voice that sounds like a duck and “quacks” more than honks. “Monica” is the female Pomeranian and our favorite. She has this lovely voice that sounds like cascading laughter. She is the most curious of the lot, always lagging behind, never in a hurry, she’s gentle and has a subtle calm that radiates from her eyes. But when you walk outside and they all come up to greet you they sound like a bunch of squeaky gates in need of oiling.
I believe in being responsible for the animals we acquire. It was my choice to have these geese. It’s not their fault I’m an idiot and didn’t think a little longer and harder about having them as residents here. So, I don’t think it’s right to punish them for being... well, geese. But my wife lives here as well and I promised her I would try to find them another home. For me, that means a better home. After exhausting all possibilities here I remembered a couple I did a job for several years ago, in North Carolina. They had a beautiful spread. Over thirty acres with a two acre pond on it. They had horses and dogs, as well as an assortment of other fury residents.
Animal lovers to be sure. I called them on a whim and laid out my dilemma. “Sure, we’d love to have them.” She spoke. It sounded like music to my ears. “We have one lonely goose here already. She hangs out with the wild Canada geese during the day, but they leave in the afternoon and then she’s left all alone. When did you want to bring them?” The question caught me off guard. “Ah, I’m not sure, can I call you back?” “Of course, just let us know, anytime will be fine.”
That all happened too fast, I guess I needed a bit of time to wrap my mind around letting them go. As annoying and inconvenient as they were I had gotten awfully attached and was feeling a real pull in my spirit when I hung up the phone. Our anniversary was two weeks away, that would be a nice present for Sharon I thought. I’ll take them then. When Sharon came home I told her I found the perfect place for the geese; I don’t know how I didn’t think of it sooner. The relief on Sharon’s face was obvious.
When the day came, I put the cap on my old pickup and filled the bed with mulch so they’d have a comfortable ride. The drive was about two hours away and Sharon surprised me by taking the day off so she could ride along. The geese took it as a personal affront to be unceremoniously picked up and dumped in the back of a truck and they let me know in no uncertain terms it was beneath their dignity. When we pulled out of the driveway, I looked in the rear view mirror and saw all their little heads together only inches apart and for the first time ever they were silent. That all changed when we hit the highway and passed our first transfer truck. They exploded in a chorus of screams that silenced the roar of eighteen wheels and a diesel engine. They were a bunch of country bumpkins on their first trip off the farm. Everything was new. The motion of the ride, the noises, the open space outside their window. What a shock it must have been.
When we arrived, I drove down a gravel driveway that led to the pond and backed up as close to the water as I could get. What a perfect spot! Big open water surrounded by delicious green grass, their favorite food. So much better than their pathetic little plastic blue Walmart kiddie pool in the driveway at home. There were about fifty wild geese at the far end of the pond quite a distance away, but I was curious to see how they would react. I really was excited for them. We got out of the truck walked around and opened the tail gate and swung the cap door open. I expected them to rush out and make a bee line for the pond but they didn’t move. Didn’t make a sound. I climbed in the back and pushed them out one by one then climbed back out myself.
They all clung around my ankles. If I moved, they all moved in unison. They were terrified. I ushered them down to the pond and had to push Clarence in the water, but the second he couldn’t feel his feet touch the bottom he panicked and shot back out faster than I’ve ever seen him move. I tried to get them all in at once figuring they’d feel safer. That was not happening either.
Thaddeus saw the gravel road and it must have looked familiar to him because he gave the call and they all started walking towards the road probably believing it would lead home. They were having none of this. I called to them but they wouldn’t come so I ran around and got in front and tried to herd the flock back to the water. They stopped by the truck and refused to go any further so I sat down in the grass with them, that delicious fresh green grass. I pulled some up and tried to make a peace-offering. Nope. They headed back to the road. I rounded them back up and pointed them in the direction of the water. Just then a flock of about thirty wild geese flew into view all noisy and calling, coming in for a landing. Our geese stopped and stood rigid watching. When they landed the wild geese already there got excited and started calling, their voices joining with the new comers. What a racket! Our geese were mortified. These were obviously “super geese” how could they ever compete?
The resident pet goose heard the commotion and flew in just over our heads to join in the melee with the locals. They all huddled around Sharon and I looking very concerned. We sat there with them for close to an hour hoping they would calm down and feel comfortable. But is wasn’t going to happen. It was all just too much for them. There was no pen or building to leave them in to get used to the place and start to feel at home. It was obvious that as soon as we left they would start walking up the road looking for home. Even though the property was fenced it was not a fence that would hold geese and besides the gates were all open. I was sure they would just keep walking looking for home and probably end up on a busy road or worse.
Sharon had been watching this whole scene play out and drew her own conclusions. She walked over to me tears streaming down her cheeks and her face contorted from trying not to burst out crying. “We can’t leave them here!” She wailed.” They’ve never known any place but ours, they’re scared and they’ll never be happy heeeeeeeeere.” She threw her arms around me and buried her face in my neck sobbing. The geese had once again gathered around us and were obviously in total agreement with her assessment. When she was finally able to gather herself together she said, “Just put em’ back in the truck and let’s go home. I’ll learn to deal with them.”
That’s my wife. Sharon. Everyone else’s feelings come first. Even the feelings of a goose. So everyone is safe and sound back at home. There is goose poop everywhere, fences up, gates closed, weapons handy and a little blue Walmart pool in the driveway... also with goose poop in it. Nothing much has changed, except now they are not known as “Rob’s geese,” they’re “Sharon’s geese.”
Geese are wonderful. Sorry your wife was so scared she taught them to be aggressive, but I had a neighbor who had a big China goose gander, and he was a handful. Get Toulouse geese, much more friendly and inclined to discuss things than get mad.
Nice. You make me want to raise geese.