I drove up to my special pond, only to discover that there were several people there, in cars, standing with fishing rods, milling around and feeding the geese. A wave of disappointment washed over me, as I prefer to be alone with them, the solitude giving me the illusion that the geese and ducks and I comprise the entire world; there is nothing else but us. Nevertheless, I got out my food and started to make my way toward the geese and ducks, so busy with others, so distracted by everything around them. Two geese started turned away from what they were doing and started to head toward me as I was approaching. As I looked more closely I let out a cry of delight, “Murray! Brokebeak, you came to me!!!” Yes, they had seen me and come to me- their choice, their decision, to turn my way and walk over to me, their friend. Brokebeak is so called because he does indeed have a piece of bill chipped off. It doesn’t seem to bother him for eating; it’s just a good way that I can identify him. He’s my little “goosedog” because, when there are hardly any geese or ducks around, it will be he who stays loyally by my side, sometimes just the two of us alone, keeping me company while he enjoys what food I have to offer from my hand. Murray and Brokebeak, there in front of me waiting for me to give them some corn. I feed them simultaneously- neither willing to wait till the other is finished. I have both hands busily going in and out of the food container, trying to keep up with the bills poking in my hand for more, always more, like bottomless pits for stomachs. I just love looking at them, the familiarity of their faces and their actions soothing me with the comfort of being among old friends, good friends who love me as effortlessly as I love them. Eventually I could stand no longer and had to make my way to a bench. They came along but were swallowed up by the gathering crowd of geese and ducks around me. I told Murray to go get a drink, and he obediently did so, as did Brokebeak. They wandered off into “whatever geese do in a pond” mode and came back periodically to check in, grab a bite of food, and continue on doing important geese business. I wait. I can outwait anybody, for they all eventually get bored with my flock, which to them are a “novelty act” for their amusement. Only I, I who know who they really are, am left alone with them and I can finally relax and let them surround me as I speak to them by name, call certain ones over, check my little top bill half-missing duck Joey, and just be the flock member that I am. I like to watch the dynamics that go on, the interplay, the “interfight” that they are constantly engaging in for imagined slights and threats that end in a splash as the water their grip on each other or some other duck comes along and makes them forget why they were fighting. The sun is warm, but the pond provides a slight breeze that continues to welcome me to stay. I declare a “corn party!” from time to time and throw a handful up in the air. The ducks look up in the air simultaneously, comically, as one when I toss the food, and they watch as it lands, then clamber all over it and themselves to get it. There are certain ducks that I call my “brave boys” – those who will eat from my hand. Ducks are generally not as eager to learn that skill but the ones that do are rewarded with private handfuls of the coveted food. By the end of the season there are usually several “brave boys” around who know that good stuff hides in my outstretched palm for the taking. As I sit, I wait for the “parade.” Sure enough, along comes the parade of mom, dad, and their 4 baby goslings, growing as quickly as bamboo shoots every day, sprouting tails under their fine baby down, and making all kinds of noise about nothing at all. Mom and dad geese come over to me, all big shot and hissing, and look me over. I say hello and outstretch my palm with food and they grace me with an “OK, its her, she’s safe” as they take what I offer. Then they allow the babies to take food, an awkward proposition, as they are absolutely hopeless at taking food from a hand. They try, some of them, and end up scattering it everywhere as they know they are supposed to do something when my hand is out there with corn, but don’t really know quite what. They poke at the air, at my fingers, sometimes a kernel of corn but it will take a lot of training to get these babies eating as comfortably and greedily as their parents who are happy to push them out of the way and eat if they see that the babies are just milling around and fumbling. Sometimes I am able to reach out and touch the fine down on the babies, as they let out a startled “awp” at the feel of a human hand. No matter to the parents- I am a trusted friend, I will do no harm. I am safe. Eventually the parade reforms and moves along as I wave goodbye and compliment the babies on how big they are getting and what a good job mama and daddy goose are doing. The food is getting low, and so is the sun. Time to go, always the hardest part of my visit. Leaving them, saying goodbye as the watch and wonder why I am leaving. That is hard. I can never explain well enough that I must rejoin that “other” world, that busy land of people with their heads down instead of looking up at them and smiling. “I will be back,” I mouth as a silent promise to them, to myself. As I drive away I look, and they are looking at me too, as the image of them regretfully disappears from my eyes but never from my heart. I drove up to my special pond, only to discover that there were several people there, in cars, standing with fishing rods, milling around and feeding the geese. A wave of disappointment washed over me, as I prefer to be alone with them, the solitude giving me the illusion that the geese and ducks and I comprise the entire world; there is nothing else but us. Nevertheless, I got out my food and started to make my way toward the geese and ducks, so busy with others, so distracted by everything around them. Two geese started turned away from what they were doing and started to head toward me as I was approaching. As I looked more closely I let out a cry of delight, “Murray! Brokebeak, you came to me!!!” Yes, they had seen me and come to me- their choice, their decision, to turn my way and walk over to me, their friend. Brokebeak is so called because he does indeed have a piece of bill chipped off. It doesn’t seem to bother him for eating; it’s just a good way that I can identify him. He’s my little “goosedog” because, when there are hardly any geese or ducks around, it will be he who stays loyally by my side, sometimes just the two of us alone, keeping me company while he enjoys what food I have to offer from my hand. Murray and Brokebeak, there in front of me waiting for me to give them some corn. I feed them simultaneously- neither willing to wait till the other is finished. I have both hands busily going in and out of the food container, trying to keep up with the bills poking in my hand for more, always more, like bottomless pits for stomachs. I just love looking at them, the familiarity of their faces and their actions soothing me with the comfort of being among old friends, good friends who love me as effortlessly as I love them. Eventually I could stand no longer and had to make my way to a bench. They came along but were swallowed up by the gathering crowd of geese and ducks around me. I told Murray to go get a drink, and he obediently did so, as did Brokebeak. They wandered off into “whatever geese do in a pond” mode and came back periodically to check in, grab a bite of food, and continue on doing important geese business. I wait. I can outwait anybody, for they all eventually get bored with my flock, which to them are a “novelty act” for their amusement. Only I, I who know who they really are, am left alone with them and I can finally relax and let them surround me as I speak to them by name, call certain ones over, check my little top bill half-missing duck Joey, and just be the flock member that I am. I like to watch the dynamics that go on, the interplay, the “interfight” that they are constantly engaging in for imagined slights and threats that end in a splash as the water their grip on each other or some other duck comes along and makes them forget why they were fighting. The sun is warm, but the pond provides a slight breeze that continues to welcome me to stay. I declare a “corn party!” from time to time and throw a handful up in the air. The ducks look up in the air simultaneously, comically, as one when I toss the food, and they watch as it lands, then clamber all over it and themselves to get it. There are certain ducks that I call my “brave boys” – those who will eat from my hand. Ducks are generally not as eager to learn that skill but the ones that do are rewarded with private handfuls of the coveted food. By the end of the season there are usually several “brave boys” around who know that good stuff hides in my outstretched palm for the taking. As I sit, I wait for the “parade.” Sure enough, along comes the parade of mom, dad, and their 4 baby goslings, growing as quickly as bamboo shoots every day, sprouting tails under their fine baby down, and making all kinds of noise about nothing at all. Mom and dad geese come over to me, all big shot and hissing, and look me over. I say hello and outstretch my palm with food and they grace me with an “OK, its her, she’s safe” as they take what I offer. Then they allow the babies to take food, an awkward proposition, as they are absolutely hopeless at taking food from a hand. They try, some of them, and end up scattering it everywhere as they know they are supposed to do something when my hand is out there with corn, but don’t really know quite what. They poke at the air, at my fingers, sometimes a kernel of corn but it will take a lot of training to get these babies eating as comfortably and greedily as their parents who are happy to push them out of the way and eat if they see that the babies are just milling around and fumbling. Sometimes I am able to reach out and touch the fine down on the babies, as they let out a startled “awp” at the feel of a human hand. No matter to the parents- I am a trusted friend, I will do no harm. I am safe. Eventually the parade reforms and moves along as I wave goodbye and compliment the babies on how big they are getting and what a good job mama and daddy goose are doing. The food is getting low, and so is the sun. Time to go, always the hardest part of my visit. Leaving them, saying goodbye as the watch and wonder why I am leaving. That is hard. I can never explain well enough that I must rejoin that “other” world, that busy land of people with their heads down instead of looking up at them and smiling. “I will be back,” I mouth as a silent promise to them, to myself. As I drive away I look, and they are looking at me too, as the image of them regretfully disappears from my eyes but never from my heart. I drove up to my special pond, only to discover that there were several people there, in cars, standing with fishing rods, milling around and feeding the geese. A wave of disappointment washed over me, as I prefer to be alone with them, the solitude giving me the illusion that the geese and ducks and I comprise the entire world; there is nothing else but us. Nevertheless, I got out my food and started to make my way toward the geese and ducks, so busy with others, so distracted by everything around them. Two geese started turned away from what they were doing and started to head toward me as I was approaching. As I looked more closely I let out a cry of delight, “Murray! Brokebeak, you came to me!!!” Yes, they had seen me and come to me- their choice, their decision, to turn my way and walk over to me, their friend. Brokebeak is so called because he does indeed have a piece of bill chipped off. It doesn’t seem to bother him for eating; it’s just a good way that I can identify him. He’s my little “goosedog” because, when there are hardly any geese or ducks around, it will be he who stays loyally by my side, sometimes just the two of us alone, keeping me company while he enjoys what food I have to offer from my hand. Murray and Brokebeak, there in front of me waiting for me to give them some corn. I feed them simultaneously- neither willing to wait till the other is finished. I have both hands busily going in and out of the food container, trying to keep up with the bills poking in my hand for more, always more, like bottomless pits for stomachs. I just love looking at them, the familiarity of their faces and their actions soothing me with the comfort of being among old friends, good friends who love me as effortlessly as I love them. Eventually I could stand no longer and had to make my way to a bench. They came along but were swallowed up by the gathering crowd of geese and ducks around me. I told Murray to go get a drink, and he obediently did so, as did Brokebeak. They wandered off into “whatever geese do in a pond” mode and came back periodically to check in, grab a bite of food, and continue on doing important geese business. I wait. I can outwait anybody, for they all eventually get bored with my flock, which to them are a “novelty act” for their amusement. Only I, I who know who they really are, am left alone with them and I can finally relax and let them surround me as I speak to them by name, call certain ones over, check my little top bill half-missing duck Joey, and just be the flock member that I am. I like to watch the dynamics that go on, the interplay, the “interfight” that they are constantly engaging in for imagined slights and threats that end in a splash as the water their grip on each other or some other duck comes along and makes them forget why they were fighting. The sun is warm, but the pond provides a slight breeze that continues to welcome me to stay. I declare a “corn party!” from time to time and throw a handful up in the air. The ducks look up in the air simultaneously, comically, as one when I toss the food, and they watch as it lands, then clamber all over it and themselves to get it. There are certain ducks that I call my “brave boys” – those who will eat from my hand. Ducks are generally not as eager to learn that skill but the ones that do are rewarded with private handfuls of the coveted food. By the end of the season there are usually several “brave boys” around who know that good stuff hides in my outstretched palm for the taking. As I sit, I wait for the “parade.” Sure enough, along comes the parade of mom, dad, and their 4 baby goslings, growing as quickly as bamboo shoots every day, sprouting tails under their fine baby down, and making all kinds of noise about nothing at all. Mom and dad geese come over to me, all big shot and hissing, and look me over. I say hello and outstretch my palm with food and they grace me with an “OK, its her, she’s safe” as they take what I offer. Then they allow the babies to take food, an awkward proposition, as they are absolutely hopeless at taking food from a hand. They try, some of them, and end up scattering it everywhere as they know they are supposed to do something when my hand is out there with corn, but don’t really know quite what. They poke at the air, at my fingers, sometimes a kernel of corn but it will take a lot of training to get these babies eating as comfortably and greedily as their parents who are happy to push them out of the way and eat if they see that the babies are just milling around and fumbling. Sometimes I am able to reach out and touch the fine down on the babies, as they let out a startled “awp” at the feel of a human hand. No matter to the parents- I am a trusted friend, I will do no harm. I am safe. Eventually the parade reforms and moves along as I wave goodbye and compliment the babies on how big they are getting and what a good job mama and daddy goose are doing. The food is getting low, and so is the sun. Time to go, always the hardest part of my visit. Leaving them, saying goodbye as the watch and wonder why I am leaving. That is hard. I can never explain well enough that I must rejoin that “other” world, that busy land of people with their heads down instead of looking up at them and smiling. “I will be back,” I mouth as a silent promise to them, to myself. As I drive away I look, and they are looking at me too, as the image of them regretfully disappears from my eyes but never from my heart.
Posted on: Sun, 23 Jun 2013 19:14:07 +0000
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