For the past ten days I’ve watched a pair of Canadian geese quietly checking out the area for a likely nesting site. They’ve cruised the shoreline, reviewed back yards, considered hideaway ledges and nooks.
“That one looks good to me,” he would mutter.
“You’re not the one who’s going to be sitting on those blasted eggs,” she retorted, sometimes sharply.
In the past we’ve had a pair, maybe this same twosome, nest on the ledge down along the edge of our back yard. Each effort has met with disaster, once at the teeth of a fox or raccoon and twice when heavy rains raised the lake level and drowned the eggs.
Last week I found the two birds standing in our back yard. Now I enjoy watching geese from a distance but I’m not up for wading through their copious goose grease in my yard. I politely — but firmly — ushered them off my property.
A few days ago they were back, this time while she tried out an empty flower pot for size while he swam back and forth in the water above our pool.
“Does this pot make me look fat?” I heard her ask.
“Dearest, it’s a beautiful pot and you’re as slender and gorgeous as ever, but our babies will break their downy necks trying to get down from there when they hatch.”
“I don’t know,” she said, clearly flattered. “This potting soil sure feels comfortable on my you know what.”
And then I went outside and politely — but firmly — ushered them out of our yard.
Yesterday Sandy discovered the male on duty atop the wall that separates our yard and our neighbor’s. He stood out there for nearly an hour. We wondered where his mate might be but thought no more of it.
This morning both geese were on our roof, doing a bit of morning head bobbing, either the equivalent of goose yoga or as much sex as they could hope for given that she’s in a motherly way and all. They eventually flew off and minutes later the male was back on guard on the wall. I believe I heard muffled talk coming from the weeds down by the water.
“Don’t you let anyone see me like this,” she was warning.
“I’m here, dearest,” he said, trying to look casual, as though he stood on top of a wall all the time.
“I feel so, so exposed,” she whispered.
“You’ve never been more beautiful, darling,” he assured. “Laying eggs is one of the most natural things in nature. Just relax and let them come out.”
“We can do this!”
“WE are not doing this, you vain poppycock! I am doing this, and it’s like laying a pumpkin. So shut your stupid … Ouch! Whew! Maybe three are enough.”
“One more time, my sugar plum.”
“Ouch! Okay! You satisfied, buster?”
“Perfect,” he beamed, which is a difficult expression for a male goose.
After a while I’ll get dressed and go check out my theory that we now have a mother on her eggs. I’ll wait till the proud papa is off bragging to the guys and take a quick peek. I’ll let you know what I find.
Postscript: I just went down the hall after coffee and spotted the Q&$#^ geese back in the pool. I politely — but #&$&*$ — ushered them out of my yard. If she was taking a sitting break, she can just take it somewhere else. Those &($& geese!