Once Upon A Gaggle

I am blessed to live in a home that overlooks water. Most mornings I attempt to bring myself out of a sleep induced coma by sipping strong coffee while gazing out of the window in our kitchen that overlooks the shared pond bordering our backyard. I must admit that over the years I have had to steadily increase the strength of my morning coffee as well as the magnifying power of the cheap glasses I used to only need for reading so that I can actually see the this man made enclosure from my window.

With my dimming eyesight has come an enhanced appreciation for the wildlife that inhabits this small body of water. Amazed to discover that deer could swim, our first winter here I saw an eight point buck cross its snowy circumference leaving a wake in his path that any ocean going vessel would have envied. I have watched pairs of great blue herons patiently hunt the banks of its shores, gliding gracefully above the tree tops once their stomachs were full. Always a welcome sight, the colorful wood ducks who pay us an occasional visit add their voices to the croaking melodies of bullfrogs and cicadas during the summer months.

This pond has also become a magnet for migrating flocks of Canada Geese and you can almost set your watch by the noisy Two A.M. arrival of these 474's of the waterfowl world. Precisely estimating glide path ratios, the rowdy gangs of Branta Candensi conduct several loud flybys each evening and after landing in a less than graceful manner, persist in proudly honking at one another until the sun starts to rise.

Disturbing my oldest son's peaceful slumber on more than one occasion, many of these long necked, web footed fowl fell victim to early morning assassination attempts staged from this boy's second-story bedroom window. Now you truly cannot comprehend the meaning of the words tar and feather until someone has plucked a couple of geese in your driveway and unfortunately no matter how you cook it, goose meat doesn't taste good. There just isn't enough John Boy & Billy's Grillin Sauce on the shelf at the local Piggly Wiggly to disguise the wild taste or tough texture of this not so delicate delicacy.

Having to constantly rearrange uneaten goose meat in the freezer and scrape feathers off my windshield eventually led to a self preservation effort and a stay of execution was issued. Not long afterwards a mated pair of geese took up permanent residence in the sparkling asylum behind our house and each spring these monogamous creatures have treated us to a whole new generation of offspring.

Feeling pretty secure about their protected status, a couple of years back mama and papa goose even marched their goslings up through the backyard and the family vacationed for a few days in the small pond near our driveway. Unwilling to risk an altercation with their larger kinsmen, our domestic Pekin ducks immediately vacated the premises, angrily staring at the unwelcome intruders from a safe distance.

One chilly morning this past winter I was in the pasture feeding horses when my two old buddies flew over the barn. The honking that signaled their return from a predawn excursion made me look upward and I watched as the pair majestically soared toward their backyard refuge. Then, like a scene out of the movie Funny Farm, two shotgun blasts shattered the moment and the birds flew back over the barn, swiftly heading in the opposite directions.

Back at the house, my oldest son repeatedly vowed he had not fired the shots and in a normal family the fact that he was barefoot and still in his pajamas would have lent some credence to his story. Later that day I saw the geese return home, but I knew if someone else was hunting the shared pond it wouldn't be long before they met with an untimely demise.

Shortly afterwards, my eldest pulled up and unloaded a sack of deer corn from the trunk of his car. Coyly suggesting that I sprinkle the contents of this bag all the way around the edge of the pond, he then reminded me that it is illegal for anyone to wing hunt a baited field. My neighbors will probably never speak to me again, but the geese are still here and their repeated honking serves as a gentle reassurance that even the most cold blooded assassin may mellow with time.