You may have heard it on the street, but apparently it's true. Those Canada geese you see these days almost everywhere?--they mate for life. Seriously. Divorce?--non-existent. Just about this time of year, couples break off from those massive v's and look for a place for the kids. Anyone who lives around them knows it's not unusual for them to choose a place brazenly out in the open. Sometimes, year after year, they do the whole family thing in the exact same place.
They're here now and in abundance. Yesterday, they seemed quiet--it was the Sabbath--but there were hundreds of them in the stubble corn behind our house--hundreds, really.
It's great to have around again, but I don't mind them keeping their distance. They litter with abandon, and their waste is more than droppings. Who hasn't walked among them in some city park and not tippy-toed through the muddy mess?
They're unerringly old-fashioned. When the eggs appear, Mom keeps the nest while Dad guards the operation, but he never changes a diaper. They're fastidious. Bald eagles have been known to kick kids out of the nest if they show no resolve to leave; geese keep the kids around for a year, as if parting is, in fact, sweet sorrow.
I think they're Democrats, not just because they're messy and awkward. They're Democrats because they abide by Hillary's notion that "it takes a village." When goslings get to early adolescence, families often become flocks.
"Why are they called Canada geese?" our third-grade grandson asked us some years ago. It seems nobody really knows; after all, they show up in every state of the union and don't necessarily make annual pilgrimages up north to watch hockey. They just are "Canada Geese" and have been since (so saith the OED) the early 18th century.
If, at your peril, you don't count the abundance of their fecal matter, they make good neighbors. Out back of our house, they meal on what remains from last fall's harvest. They harm no one nor anything, and only rarely get in the way.
But they're known to be crabby, even hostile. I don't know anyone who's ever petted one, whether or not they're out with their children. My Oklahoma granddaughter tried last week, but to no avail. Sometimes, it seems, they're just plain mean.
In case you're wondering, they used to migrate more and farther than many do today. Even as far north as our own Floyd River, some families decide to homestead. Experts aren't why that's true, but it's meant an increase in population. Today, they number between four and six million--a ton of do-do.
I hate to bring it up, but they're not particularly good singers. Right now, I'm reminded again of what manner of blessing it is that human voices are not designed to honk. Can you imagine what a church council would sound like? They're hundreds of yards away, but sometimes you'd still swear they were just a step or two off the deck.
It's nice to have them around, on the ground or in the air in their remarkable triangles. As long as I don't have to clean up their dirt, they're a blessing, a wonder. I'm thankful they're here.
Still, "good fences make good neighbors." Call me a bigot, but I'd just as soon not have them light on my lawn.
No comments:
Post a Comment