Behold the Goose

One of the first things I loved doing when we first moved in was "Goose Watching." I would sit up in my office and gaze down to the pond and watch them congregate by the 100s. After watching for a long period of time I began to recognize their habits. Once it got warmer, they became very regimented. They were obviously getting ready to migrate, because they would have whole days of practicing take-offs; another day they would practice landings. It seemed as though there was a whole day put aside for each focus: eating, bathing/cleaning, fighting, and formations. I wish I had written down "The Priority for the Day." It would have been interesting to see if they did the same thing every day of the week. (I will try to do that this winter.)

Spring was obviously bursting forth, and one day I heard a cacophony coming from up above. I realized that the migration had begun, and even got to see the migrating geese take off in large numbers, circling back around to give the farewell dip before they headed north. I wondered why there were still others sitting on the pond, and assumed the flocks all had their own pilots who determined such things. But summer came and they stayed.

The geese who had looked so beautiful from afar, took on a new light when viewed pond-side in the light of spring and summer. They pooped at a rapid rate of green; multiplied by groups of 22, it seemed, per flock. Our back yard became a health hazard to the dog (Who would think she would like goose poo?) and a minefield to Randy and I as we searched for "clean" grass to step on. Evening pond walks took on a whole new look. Anyone watching us would think we were playing the game TWISTER without bending, or asking, "Mother, may I?" as we took giant steps to the next clear area.

I decided these lazy geese had to go from our backyard. I could tolerate the ones who came and left, but not these. Spring was here and summer was coming, and it would be a long time until fall came again, and they could hook up with the responsible geese again. Dire times call for drastic measures. I decided I would send Mollie, our dog, on a wild goose chase. She learned quickly, that when I let her out and whispered, "Go get 'em," to run to the edge of the pond and scare them into the water. That lasted about 2 days, but I didn't know that. I thought, "That was pretty easy. They know we have a dog now. They won't come back."

Silly me. They eventually walked to the water and would step in and honk at her and spread their wings. I became fearful that they would attack her, but so far, so good, because I warn them she is coming now. I stand on the balcony and scream, "Shoo, Geese, Shoo," at the top of my lungs. (I can't even imagine what the neighbors must think.) That stopped working too, so I had to go to plan C. Randy and I hauled huge rocks from a neighborhood rock pile (We got permission first.) and bordered the whole pond with them. I figured the geese wouldn't be able to step up. (We didn't think WE were ever going to be able to step up again after hauling all those rocks.)I was right, they didn't step up...they hopped up. I began to take it personally.

Plan D was obvious--buy some string and string up a line right at the rock line from one end of the property to the other. I didn't want to have to do it twice so I got hot pink string. The first goose chase with Mollie put them in a tither. They couldn't think fast enough to go under the string, so they had to fly over it. There were so many at one point, though, they couldn't fly all at once, and some ducked under. I went out a few days later and to my horror, there were goose feathers all over the yard. I figured a coyote must have gotten hold of a bunch of them, but all I saw were feathers, no body parts. (We know there are coyotes here because we were awakened one night that first spring to howling and squawking. It was horrible. I don't think Randy and I went back to sleep that night. It was the eeriest sound we have ever heard. The coyotes had found the goose eggs. It's survival of the fittest, so we were glad nature was taking care of itself.)

I was starting to feel sorry for them, because I figured all my master-minding had upset their emotional health, and maybe they were going to think they shouldn't stay in our yard. (I found out they molt all their feathers at once and produce new ones for the next migration.)I didn't want all those feathers to go to waste, so I picked the largest ones up with a glove on both hands, and tied them on the pink string at about 3 foot intervals. My thinking was that they would see the feathers and think, "We'd better not go there. Look what happened to the last goose who did. She obviously made an example out of them."

I am going to stop here for the night, because this is a long story; therefore there are a few meditations that came out of this and I cannot rush, so bear with me, and please do not send me all the ways to get rid of the geese. I need to let you know I am a goose advocate now. Will explain more tomorrow. In the meantime, the "Word for the blog for the day," is "cacophony" n. (ca-cof e ne) Jarring, discordant sound; dissonance. (I loved the comment yesterday. I still am trying not to feel guilty for just browsing in a bookstore and enjoying it so much. It's hard to break old habits.)