Even by her own odd standards, Gladys has been behaving most peculiarly, and once again I am at a loss to understand what she is doing. First, after laying over 25 eggs, she finally decided to begin sitting on the nest.
Granted, I had removed a few of the eggs in order for my Good Wife to make a delicious goose egg cheesecake. Parenthetically, goose eggs make the best cheesecake. They are thick and full-bodied.
Gladys had begun laying later than usual this year, and finally in late April she began to set, getting up only to eat or drink. To assist her, most days I fed her in place and always had water available nearby. Gladys is not a big drinker, but she is a huge splasher. She thrives on jumping into the water container, throwing water everywhere and getting out without having taken a single sip. Over the years, I have learned not to stand close when she is splashing.
I had been hopeful that this year would be the one when we finally would have goslings. My enthusiasm was augmented by Henry, who stood by her side at the edge of the nest in typical gander fashion all the while that she was sitting. Such gander behavior is an excellent sign that the male is an expectant father.
Unlike most other fowl, penguins excluded, ganders are involved in the rearing of their offspring. During the nesting phase, they often will set on the eggs to give the goose a chance to eat or merely to stretch and get a bit of exercise, however this time I never saw Gladys take up his kind offer of assistance on the nest. She was determined to do it all herself, giving renewed meaning to the term “silly goose.”
In previous years when eggs did not hatch, Gladys seemed to go through a period of deep depression. I think she truly would like to have goslings. For my part, I have wanted them too, inasmuch as goslings are especially receptive to human interaction and being imprinted, thereby becoming true pets, rather than simply barnyard residents.
Well, last week Gladys threw in the towel, recognizing that she had no more eggs in the nest, all of them probably having been squashed by her weight. When she rose from the nest, I found no residue of eggshells there, leading me to speculate on what had happened to them. In past years, when she stopped setting, I would find fragments, but not this time. I do not attribute the absence to “fowl” play.
Gladys has her own agenda when one speaks of behavior patterns. Unlike Henry, she is a selfish creature, grabbing the food servings first, pushing the other fowl out of the way, and not knowing how to share. The chickens do not like her, but they are sufficiently smart to know to keep out of her way.
Now that the nesting phase has passed for this year, Henry is back doing his own thing, in effect ignoring Gladys, but he always has preferred humans to geese. Quack, the Khaki Campbell drake, has returned to his subservient role as Gladys’ understudy. In the pecking order, she accepts him more graciously than any of the other ducks, most of which she considers to be utter bores and possible threats to her food supremacy.
Perhaps I should attribute Gladys’ reduced honking to being a matter of age. I calculate that she should be about 25 now, as she was no “spring chicken,” to use a related metaphor, when Michelle Simmons gave her to me 15 years ago. Despite the challenges she poses, she is a magnificent, stately goose, with a regal air about her persona, even if most days I cannot understand her. Alas, sadly, for us this year Mother Goose remains no more than a fairy tale.
