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As I walked by the small pond in the apartment complex, I
happened upon a group of geese. This spring there were six – three pairs if
their behavior was any indication. By the end of May they had hatched a gaggle
of geese and pedestrians along the walkway could often be heard complaining
about the refuse the critters left behind. One woman called the office every
day for a week because a goose chased after her, as if they had anything to do
with fowl of that nature. I had seen this particular woman on one of my daily
walks, and I do believe if she would quit feeding them bread scraps, they would
not be begging her for more. But what do I know; I’m not a goose.
I have, however,
learned quite a lot from this group of feathered residents. They never get too
far away from each other, especially after the goslings hatched. I can also
tell exactly where the babies are, even hidden in the grass or beneath the
shrubs, because there is always a guard on either side of the group, head held
high and unwavering. I don't know which gender it
is. It could be the patriarch, standing watch over his charges, but I like to
think it is the mothers who are always the steadfast protectors. Either way,
the guards do not move an inch if you approach and it is you who will step to
the side, or ride your bicycle around them, even if you are much bigger and it
is your residence. During the spring, until the goslings are fully feathered
and can fly, this particular area of the complex belongs to them.
I wonder if studies
have been done on geese. They appear to have a great sense of commitment and
family and are very protective. They also have the patience of Job. I watched
one day as they ventured across the street – crossing guard at front and rear and
other adults scattered amongst the young ones. Traffic did stop, but after
fifteen minutes, more than one horn honked to hurry things along. The geese
were not in the least intimidated by the vehicles that could flatten them in a
heartbeat.
Today there was a new occurrence and I stood for some
time watching – from a safe distance, of course. This year’s hatchings had lost
their down and now had feathers and their heads were marked with the black and
white of their tribe. The only way to tell them apart from their parents was
their size, for they were small in stature and not yet built for the long
distance migration which they would eventually take on. Even as they picked
through the grass for bugs, fully capable now that
they were grown, there remained a stalwart guard at either end of the group.
And off to the side, outside the cluster of scrambling
toddlers but close to one of the guards, was another gosling. This one was far
behind the others in development. Its body still covered with down, it lay in
the grass as if unwilling or unable to join in the lunch the others were
enjoying. I took a step closer and the guard (it had to be mama) took two steps
closer to the baby but her gaze was steady on me. This hatchling was a full
three weeks or more behind the rest of the group. I had to wonder with nature
in all its glory, how that had happened. It certainly put a wrench in things
for the rest of the gaggle as they couldn’t venture far or fly to new feeding
grounds and leave an unprotected baby. You could tell by the way the adults
acted that this baby, regardless of how poorly it developed or how much care it
required, would not be left behind.
Much can be learned from a goose.
Barbara Baldwin
http://www.authorsden.com/barbarajbaldwin
https://www.amazon.com/stores/Barbara-Baldwin/author/
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