Every year about this time in January, we have a couple that has visited since we first noticed all the fuzzy and feathered friends on our property. A goose couple, Henry and Henrietta, that come waddling up from the banks of the brook in search of food, and a yard without fences, or domestic animals. They come stealthily and clumsily, to root around amongst the snow, in search of buried tidbits of... who knows what? The male is larger with a longer neck, and seems the more cautious of the two. As his companion pecks among the yard, he keeps a watchful eye that seems to surround her within a large perimeter. Day by day they move together, closer to the house where they instinctively know the occupants will throw them the delectable treats that they have come to crave. This year however, I witnessed a sight of different proportions. There was a flock of four of the feathery couples wandering out back in the direction of our house. I had almost forgot about the pilgrimage, and was undaunted by the fact that our couple had brought friends, or grown children... they were company amidst the cold snowy landscape. I hurried to the breadbasket to retrieve some stale cornbread from this past weekend's dinner (I have learned not to waste any food, as my backyard friends will eat almost anything). With a cheerful call to the back of the yard, I wildly waved my arms and shouted, Woo-Hoo, (as if they could understand) and started crumbling the cornbread and flinging it in their direction. Suddenly from my distance, I saw the leader of the group, rear up and flap the large winged feathers that previously stuck to his side. Suddenly there was unsettled honking, and the geese were stamping around, looking confused and disorderly. Did I scare them away? It was certainly not my intent... I love those birds, even if they are a little messy. After the flapping episode by the leader, the couples all slowly headed back toward the bank of the brook from where they came. Feeling denied and a tinge dejected, I went back into the house. Hours later, I saw one goose couple slowly waddle from the bank of the brook towards the house. This time, there was determination in their stride as the two made their way towards the house. It took, many minutes, as they looked side to side, and made the webbed trek to the edge of the patio. When they reached the spot where I had thrown the cornbread, the female kept watch as the male ate hungrily. I watched from the glass door of the kitchen. They did not seem concerned that I was watching them in full view. Then, when a good part of the bread was gobbled, the female took her turn, nibbling a little more daintily, but with the usual slovenly clumps of grass and dirt stuck to her bill. In the setting sun they retreated back towards the brook. Our geese have returned, and obviously, they are not about to share their good fortune in knowing us. Thursday, January 29, 2009
The Yearly Pilgrimage
Every year about this time in January, we have a couple that has visited since we first noticed all the fuzzy and feathered friends on our property. A goose couple, Henry and Henrietta, that come waddling up from the banks of the brook in search of food, and a yard without fences, or domestic animals. They come stealthily and clumsily, to root around amongst the snow, in search of buried tidbits of... who knows what? The male is larger with a longer neck, and seems the more cautious of the two. As his companion pecks among the yard, he keeps a watchful eye that seems to surround her within a large perimeter. Day by day they move together, closer to the house where they instinctively know the occupants will throw them the delectable treats that they have come to crave. This year however, I witnessed a sight of different proportions. There was a flock of four of the feathery couples wandering out back in the direction of our house. I had almost forgot about the pilgrimage, and was undaunted by the fact that our couple had brought friends, or grown children... they were company amidst the cold snowy landscape. I hurried to the breadbasket to retrieve some stale cornbread from this past weekend's dinner (I have learned not to waste any food, as my backyard friends will eat almost anything). With a cheerful call to the back of the yard, I wildly waved my arms and shouted, Woo-Hoo, (as if they could understand) and started crumbling the cornbread and flinging it in their direction. Suddenly from my distance, I saw the leader of the group, rear up and flap the large winged feathers that previously stuck to his side. Suddenly there was unsettled honking, and the geese were stamping around, looking confused and disorderly. Did I scare them away? It was certainly not my intent... I love those birds, even if they are a little messy. After the flapping episode by the leader, the couples all slowly headed back toward the bank of the brook from where they came. Feeling denied and a tinge dejected, I went back into the house. Hours later, I saw one goose couple slowly waddle from the bank of the brook towards the house. This time, there was determination in their stride as the two made their way towards the house. It took, many minutes, as they looked side to side, and made the webbed trek to the edge of the patio. When they reached the spot where I had thrown the cornbread, the female kept watch as the male ate hungrily. I watched from the glass door of the kitchen. They did not seem concerned that I was watching them in full view. Then, when a good part of the bread was gobbled, the female took her turn, nibbling a little more daintily, but with the usual slovenly clumps of grass and dirt stuck to her bill. In the setting sun they retreated back towards the brook. Our geese have returned, and obviously, they are not about to share their good fortune in knowing us. 
