Each year as I serve Gladys her Christmas banquet, my thoughts turn to the ending of Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol, when Ebeneezer Scrooge awakens from the dream that transformed his life, throws open the window and asks a boy what day it is. When told it is Christmas, he directs the boy to go to the market to buy the fat goose hanging in the butcher shop window and to see it delivered to his nephew.
Readers are left to envision the new Scrooge, about whom in later years it was said that if anyone knew how to celebrate Christmas, it was he. In that respect, Gladys seems to be oblivious to the good life that she enjoys, free from any threat of ever winding up on someone’s Christmas dinner table. Marley’s ghost has not appeared to her.
On the other hand, Henry not only demonstrates his gratitude for every morsel, but even prefers to “hang out” with me before consuming his treats. He truly is a gentleman gander. Albeit the case, I do realize that Henry would prefer to be inside at the dinner table, or warming by the hearth, with the rest of our family, but for purposes of the preservation of marital bliss and domestic tranquility, I refrain from inviting him inside.
As far as the other fowl are concerned, three of the chickens are most hospitable and desiring of human companionship. They enjoy being petted and addressed affectionately. From previous experiences, I have found that Rhode Island Reds are not particularly friendly, but these three hens dispel that impression. Following Henry’s example, they wait to be petted before jumping down to dine.
I use an old Radio Flyer wagon in lieu of other more normal feeding bins, which they enjoy, particularly as I move it around their quarters in order for them to be able to enjoy different vistas as they consume.
Quack I and Quack II have bonded to each other, both being under Gladys’ tutelage, despite one being a Khaki Campbell and the other a Domestic Mallard. In an earlier column, I described the web-footed camaraderie that exists in the barnyard, to the exclusion of the chickens. Well, regrettably, everybody often does not always love everyone else.
Returning to a Dickensian analogy, the Great Author would do well today describing the relationship between Gladys and Henry. Inspired by A Tale of Two Cities, he could craft a masterful study of our mini-gaggle of anserine residents, entitling it, “A Tale of Two Geese.” The contrasts between their personalities could follow the format of Dickens’ treatment of London and Paris during the French Revolution. In that scenario, I think Henry would be London and Gladys would be Paris.
If a scholar of avian psychology, a real one, not some “quack,” excuse the pun, could undertake to study their relationship, I am certain we would be able to understand the dynamics that govern their situation much more easily. From my unschooled approach, I attribute both of their character traits as having been formed from the moments of their hatching.
Gladys probably came into this world having been set on and hatched by a true “Mother Goose,” whereas Henry was an egg found on the shoreline, adopted, and named by my late friend, Lewis Shelton, known to decoy aficionados across Tidewater Virginia and beyond for his exquisite carvings.
Henry carries Lewis’ imprint in his personality. In his early life, he knew only human contact, and to this day, he remains diffident in dealing with the other fowl. I seriously doubt that he even knows who the chickens are. He clearly knows his own name, and comes when called, but, with the exception of the give-and-take with Gladys, he does not interact with the other residents. Such is the scene that I wish a modern Dickens could place in a proper literary context. Gladys will remain forever the non-Christmas Goose.
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As Christmas is a 12-day celebration, I can close with wishing all a Merry Christmas and a New Year filled with health, happiness and peace.
