Poor Mother Goose

Hi everyone,

Mother Goose had no more than laid her eggs and settled down for the long wait when our heavy rains put an end to her efforts after only a few days.
In the first picture you can see her mate keeping watch from a few yards away. The same day I saw him suddenly lift off with great wings flapping and chase away another goose, presumably also a gander, who was swimming too close to his mate on her nest.

I was looking forward to “interviewing” both birds this year because hubby seems to have matured from the old days when he spent most of his time across the lake hanging with pals. Alas, both birds have left. Yesterday I saw a pair (them?) wandering around our front yard. Perhaps they’ll try again. If they do, I hope they’ll show more sense than God gave a goose and choose a safer spot.

Susan and Danny Hutchens

Hi everyone,

Two days ago Sandy and I had the pleasure of a visit from our formerly-from-Missouri-now-from-Colorado friends, Susan and Danny Hutchens. They attended the Children’s Literature Festival in Warrensburg and were working their way home by way of a bit of sightseeing along the way.

Susan wanted to see Goose Lake because I natter on about it so much so I took them into our back yard and proudly introduced them to the lake. I pointed down the steps from the top of our yard to the water and explained that sometimes “Mother Goose” nests on the landing and I often have conversations with her.

Sandy walked to angle that allowed her to see the landing. Sure enough, there was Mother on her nest. Right on cue.

Last year the lake rose and drowned her eggs. Plus, this year we have sighted foxes in our yard. I fear the worse but intend to have a chat with Mother before long. I’ll let you know her mood.

Papa G

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Hi everyone,

Behold, Father Goose himself sitting beside his mate. When I looked down the steps yesterday to check on Mama G, there he was. She’s been on her eggs for about twenty-four days so the goslings could hatch any time. I’ve had a few visits with Mama but this was the first time I’ve officially met Papa.

“Mama G,” I said. “Papa. You okay today?”

Mama looked up in silence. Papa gave me a long gander over his shoulder. I sensed I’d come at an awkward moment.

“If this isn’t a good time . . .”

“You the guy I took on the other day?” Papa said.

“I am. I came down to check on the wall and it upset Mama G.”

“Don’t pick another fight,” Mama muttered. “It was a misunderstanding.”

“I ought to flog him,” he hissed. “I ought to goose him. I ought to tar and feather him. What if he figures out what you’re sitting on! Hello! Think big honking omelet!”

“Darling, he already knows. I’ve shown him.”

At this Papa flew off the handle. “You . . . showed . . . him . . . the children?” he shouted.

“Sweetie, it’s not like he’s a turtle,” she warbled. “Come give Mama a kiss.”

“Turtles!” he spat out like he was tasting rotten weeds. “They’re down there — waiting, watching. When our babies hatch, they’ll be sitting ducks for those villains.”

“You’ll protect them, Dear,” she said soothingly. “Just as you do me.”

They didn’t see me take their picture. I don’t think they knew when I left. It was, after all, a family matter.

More from Mother Goose

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Hi everyone,

This morning, Mama G was in a better mood. She even stood up to greet me.

“Good morning!” I called with more cheerfulness than I felt. “And how are our eggs today?”

She looked at me for a long moment before replying. “Our eggs are just peachy, dear,” she said.

“You sound better,” I said, taking my seat four steps up.

“Sorry about the hissy fit,” she said. “Truth is I had just discovered my first gray feather.”

I decided that silence was the wisest response.

“After sitting out in the rain I caught a big honking cold, and to top it off my darling mate got to talking to that beaver across the lake. Again. Forgot the time. He says. So I was sniffing and sneezing and the eggs hurt and I had a migrate headache . . .”

“You mean migraine?”

“Dear, a goose doesn’t migraine. A goose migrates. Anyway, I was tired and cranky and figured what was good for the goose should be good for the gander, as we geese like to say.”

“Mama G,” I said. “I Googled about this. The male Canadian goose doesn’t sit on the nest. It’s your job. He’s supposed to hang around and be ready to protect you.”

“Aha!” she snorted. “Protect me from what? Beavers?”

“Okay, look at the bright side. You’ve been out here for five days already. You only have another twenty, twenty-five tops!”

“I can do the math,” she said. “I didn’t exactly flunk flight school.”

“Uh . . .”

“But I’m better now. I’ve been making up stories and telling them to my eggs. My goslings will pop out loving my stories!”

“Fantastic!” I said. “Do you have a name for your stories?”

“Really?” she said. “Really?”

“Not thinking,” I mumbled.

“Don’t you have work you need to be doing?” she suggested.

All in all I thought it went well.