The First Gosling!

Our first new gosling has been born!! We’re pretty sure that it’s Mary Ann’s, a girl, presently residing under her mother, tucked beneath with a nudge from a beak when Richard craned in for a peek. No imprinting on humans this go round. Ginger is on nest duty, sitting on the 4 remaining eggs, a bit nervous and jittery Richard reports. Schmul is spending most of his time in the coop with the girls rather than patrolling outside, though he did come out to chase the Canada gander away from the area when he came snooping around. Everyone is calmer, quieter - still protective, but not so harried and paranoid. I’m glad I’m traveling up again tomorrow to see first-hand what’s going on rather than just hearing news passed on from Richard. It sounds like a sweet time.

This time last year the girls were wee things themselves, hatched in an ingenious incubator cobbled out of an old rectangular green cooler, designed by Richard with some added electrical guidance from Royce. By little twists of fate and timing, I had been the one present when the hatching and/or delivery of various chicks had occurred before the geese, Richard having been out of town on family business, so this time he was determined to be present. He had put in a transparent piece of plexiglass on the top of the cooler so he could see the goings on inside without opening the lid and letting the moisture out, humidity needed to soften the shells and help the goslings peck out of their hard shells. As they started to come out, so tiny and adorable with these huge over-sized webbed feet, Richard kept shoving me away from the plexiglass, saying to them: “Imprint on me! I’m your papa!” And though he knew the moisture needed to be contained, Richard couldn’t contain himself from opening and re-opening the lid and finally had to help Mary Ann out of her shell. There for a while we thought that aid might have stunted her in some way, but those fears were unfounded.

They both grew by leaps and bounds, graduating to ever bigger holding pens and jabbering for our attention and presence. When we finally took them outside to sun in a pen when the warmer weather came their cries whenever we’d get out of their sight were mistaken for cries of distress by the Canada Geese nesting on our pond and they flew to the rescue like the goose equivilant of child services in a huff of alarm, hissing and stretching their wings overhead “Karate Kid” style. A close call. (You can read about this at more length by referencing blogs from last year.)

This year will be different. I love Schmul and his protective presence around the yard, but I do miss the idea of being the only “men” in the girl’s lives. I feel like we’re parents giving our daughters over to a young suitor, a future husband. And he must be Mormon because there’s a whole lot of “Big Love” going on in our backyard. Those hussies. We’ll see how it all works out, letting nature do its thing, both with the raising of our little flock and how that flock interacts with the Canada brood nesting on the pond this year. I had urged Richard to move the Canadians off the pond to avoid any showdowns and allow our crew to have free rein of the pond, but he didn’t do it. He’s a big advocate of letting nature take its course. He’s also a bit squeamish about interfering in the affairs of pets and animals, even when said interference means trimming claws or combing natty knots out of hair. But he’s also had the whole run of the place while I’ve been working in New York City and trudging across to an icy pond to shew away geese while having to do chores and other jobs and general upkeep probably didn’t top his “to do” list. Again, we shall see. It should be interesting.

Last year the girls befriended the Canada Goose family and were allowed into their inner circle, as if they were a pair of odd, dear aunts from another wing of the family. The Canada gander would hiss out boundary settings when they got a little too close to their goslings, but other than that the girls were allowed to swim near them, rest on the bank of the pond beside them, take part in “family gatherings.” It was sweet to watch. I’d often wonder what was going through our girl’s little goose heads when it came to reconciling us being their imprinted parents while these other swimming, feathered, different yet similar creatures seemed so like kin. And the Canada gander seemed nonplussed when we would call the girls home for the night and they would come swimming over, flapping their wings and running with us back to their pen, and obediently stepping into their coop to be latched in for the night. But they cohabited in a state of détente, tolerating one another’s quirks, and this probably due to their being no male influence around the girls. Now with Schmul I don’t think the meeting of goose minds will be quite so smooth. I hope to be proven wrong, but ever since the Canadian’s arrival whenever Schmul has walked over to the pond with the girls, the Canada gander has come swooping over, dive bombing them, and Schmul has reacted in fear. In fact, our geese won’t go over there anymore, won’t even cross the road. Richard prefers to see that as a good thing, especially with new babies being born. And how will Schmul react when the Canadian brood comes across the road to munch on THEIR lawn? More will be revealed.

This just in ... !!

News Flash from home – as flashy as you can get in Vermont. Something seems to be going on in the goose coop. Richard reports that Ginger and Mary Ann aren’t as squawky and het up as they had been before. When he got close to the coop window this morning, instead of the familiar furor of scolding protests, the girls calmly clucked and chatted. Richard surmises something’s up beneath, that there’s either movement in the eggs or – glory be – some eggs have hatched. No idea yet. They may be a little more civil, but they’re still not giving him a peak. We do know the egg count is down from 8 to 5, several of the eggs were cracked when the girls rolled them to the back of the coop for a more hay cushioned area during the recent frost. Royce opined that if the eggs cracked, Ginger and Mary Ann probably ate them. You need your energy sitting on a nest all day and night.

This past week I took a quick dash up to our place on my day off – taking off from New York City at 9 pm and arriving around 2 am for a one and a half day stay. A bit of a tiring stretch, but well worth it for an infusion of New England countryside. Schmul was in rare father-to-be form, pacing the perimeter of the coop, his own private maternity ward walk, on patrol, on guard. Whenever Richard and I would get anywhere near, he’d come out to confront us, stretching his neck down and out to its full length and when we’d point our finger at him with a firm “no” he’d turn and screech out a high alarm, echoed immediately by the girl’s lower Selma Diamond register from inside the coop on the nest. This was repeated continuously throughout the day as we walked back and forth from the house to the garden we were weeding and planting right near the goose coop. I had to hand it to him, though; he was doing his job. Being the male, protecting the women folk. It was impressive. When I went to turn him in that night he refused to go. Usually I can grab his beak, turn him, and wave him up to the back gate of their pen with ease, but he would not be turned. I tried to turn him and pick him up, another maneuver which has worked in the past. Nope. He squirmed and bit and flapped his wings. At one time I had his beak closed with one hand, and stretched away at arms length away from me, and he took swipes at me with his wings. You could hear the wind whip and whoosh with the force of each thrown punch, as if he were wielding a sword. He was not going to back off without a fight. Finally, I was able to pick him up, tote him up to the gate to the coop fence, toss him gently in only to have him turn quickly and grab hold of my jeans in his beak and wrench his neck back and forth. This was a fight to the finish. He’s something.

Earlier that day I had marveled at him. In the late afternoon he went up to the coop and escorted the girls – first Ginger and then about an hour later, Mary Ann – off their nest for a leisurely stroll around the property. They munched grass together, took a swim and a wash in the kiddie pool, another munch or 2, a stretch, a walk around the house. I’m sure this was all instinctual, but it looked so gentlemanly, as if he were Cary Grant in a white dinner jacket, taking his bedraggled babes out for a quick night on the town, treating them with class. So beautiful.

The next morning, just before I left for the ride back to the city, Schmul seemed surprised when Mary Ann got off the nest and walked out for a munch without him having gone to get her. There was such a bickering and jabbering back and forth as they ate grass beside one another:

Schmul: What are you doing?!
Mary Ann: What do you mean “What am I doing?”
Schmul: You’re off your nest!
Mary Ann: Yeah, I’m off my nest!
Schmul: Get back in there!
Mary Ann: You get back in there!
Schmul: I come and get you. That’s when you get off your nest.
Mary Ann: Oh, those are the rules, huh?!
Schmul: Yeah, those are the rules.
Mary Ann: Gimme a break.

She turns her back and eats some grass.

Schmul: Get back on your nest.
Mary Ann: Whatareyagonnado? Bite me?
Schmul: Oh for cryin’ out loud!
Mary Ann: Yeah, you do that pretty well. Soundin’ the alarm every 5 seconds!
Scmul: I’m lookin’ out for your best interests!
Mary Ann: How’s a constant Code Red in my best interests? Every 5 minutes “Emergency! Emergency!!” You don’t think our kids are hearing that through their shells? They’re gonna be a bunch of wacked out weirdos!
Schmul: You patrol for a while, see how you like it.
Mary Ann: Gladly. I’ll switch places with you anytime you like. I’d like to see how wide your ass gets sittin’ on a nest day and night.
Schmul: Oh, now I like your ass.
Mary Ann: Quit, quit, You can’t make me fall for you, I’m mad.
Schmul: Is that a smile I see?
Mary Ann: I said Stop it! I’m pissed!
Schmul: Try some of my grass over here, baby. It’ll make you feel better.
Mary Ann: I don’t want to feel better.
Schmul: Sure you do.
Mary Ann: Oh Schmul.
Schmul: Oh baby.
Ginger: (from inside the coop) Oh brother!

More news on the coming goslings soon