The Lone Goose

I usually write about life concerning our countryside home. This blog entry is about life at our rustic cottage retreat.

Our lake is small. In recent years from spring to early fall, it has been home to an increasing number of Canada Geese. They are not well loved by most cottagers whose waterfronts have been invaded and desecrated by these well-meaning creatures. It is not their fault if they are inclined to use the artificial beaches and manicured lawns for nesting and for their toilet. These are, after all so inviting.

Our cottage is basic - no hydro, no plumbing - and we think it wonderful. Its natural waterfront and treed lot is not so inviting, at least for the geese. We do not have to suffer the slings and arrows of goose dung to the same degree.

There were fewer gaggles of geese this year. Often the geese have numbered in the 30’s after the annual births. These gaggles are clusters of several families. It seems, however, that this year there was but one family… two adults and six little goslings, small, grey and downy balls of fluff that grazed under the watchful eye of the parents. Taking to the water, they raced comically to stay in the secure zone of parental oversight.

There are many dangers for these young waterfowl. The hawks are soaring high above, talons on the ready. The large snapping turtles lurk beneath the dark surface. There are domesticated dogs and cats to be wary of, as well as coyotes and other carnivorous creatures of the wild. Nevertheless a goose once threatened is not to be tangled with and the survival rate of their young does seem to be high.

One has to admit that the early dawn sighting of these proud geese gliding by in a tightly marshalled line can be quite inspiring to behold.

Of course, the optimal phrase is “gliding by” – swimming on to someone else’s territory.

Sitting on our point over the weeks and months of summer, we observe these young geese growing day by day, changing colour, changing shape. But in mid August we observed one of the young was missing. Now there were the two adults and five adolescent birds.

What had happened? A turtle? They come up from the deep on a resting bird and with their long sharp claws disembowel the prey and drag it down. Or was it a fox? We could only guess.

As summer was drawing to its close, we observed the lessons in flight. The vigorous flapping along the water’s surface fine entertainment. Then came the short not quite airborne dashes. Next, there are short flights of a few meters before splashing down. There is much practice needed before the young wings are strong enough to circle the lake in midair.

But we noticed early on in these lessons that one goose was left on the water far behind… honking frantically, flapping feverishly, but never achieving flight. Parents and siblings returned to its side, curious. Then off again they went, the lone one once again left behind, trying as it might to catch up. The others would return soon enough, and off the entire family swam as if all was well. As the lessons continued, the straggler continued to struggle. Its call was plaintive, from a human perspective, sad. “Wait for me” it said. And wait they did.

One day as we kayaked close to the far shore we came across the rotting carcass of a midsized goose. It had been dead for quite some time. The sight was not pleasant. It was not our goose … but it was surely the missing one. What had been its fate?

The daily practice flights continued. The lone goose tried and tried without success to be like its brothers and sisters. It cannot be faulted for its effort. After each practice run, the family always came back and gathered around the flightless one. If this were Disney, there would be much chatter and questioning. But the real world is not Disney.

As the days went by and the sun slipped quickly toward the south, the flocks of geese were now flying overhead in larger and larger numbers. The noisy formations were starting to look something like the primal V we expect to see way up in the autumn sky. And one day, our fond family flew off, leaving one dead and one debilitated goose behind. What were they feeling? Do geese feel sorrow?

We seldom sighted the lone goose after that. But we heard its distant eerie call morning and night. Occasionally, it could be seen, like a haunting ghost in the morning mist. What would its fate be? Winter would come. The lake would freeze. The water would no longer be a refuge. A lone land-struck goose would be easy hunting for those creatures seeking to fatten up before winter’s full blast.

But this autumn has been mild… exceptionally so. By December, the lake was still not frozen. Our goose had, remarkably, befriended a pet mallard duck that it had met while swimming out on our lake this fall. Unfortunately, the goose is not inclined to accept human help. Unlike the duck, it is not human friendly. There may be good reason.

The duck’s owner, who lives on our lake year round, informs us that the goose has a broken wing … Perhaps we should have guessed. If it would only follow its new friend to the safety of its shed at night, it might just survive the cold dark days ahead.

How does a goose break its wing? Was it hit by a boat? Was that also how the other goose died? Was the attack intentional – an irate cottager, an irresponsible guest? We will never know.

We hope we might see our lone goose again in the spring. Time will tell. The odds, however, would seem to be against it.