'I Worry Incessantly about My Geese'

I worry incessantly about the safety of the 25 geese in my study group.

I shudder every time Gandy and Olivia take off. They could be in Birmingham today and Boston tomorrow. I almost passed out the day I visited a park in Jackson, near the Mississippi Flyway, and heard a familiar honk. It was Spotty, one of my ganders, as if 150 miles was anything to a goose.

I worry about everything... hunters, injuries and coyotes. And now the USDA’s Wildlife Services — a nasty little piece of work — has given me something else to worry about. The feds have begun netting geese and gassing them for profit (at taxpayers’ expense) in a shameless new program in the Boston area. That means such programs may be initiated elsewhere.

Instead of teaching communities how to humanely manage geese, they recommend killing.

You should also know that geese don’t stay in one place unless they’re crippled. My research indicates that. Think about it. If you had wings, you’d be in the air, not on the ground.

Cleaning up after geese is also simple. Incorporate it into regular park maintenance, as we do at our lake, or hire someone. Nor is the meat fit for homeless shelters because geese graze on grass laden with pesticides. The feds tell you that to justify the killing contracts..

To illustrate their flight patterns:

Gandy and Olivia. These two have been together for over a decade and since Olivia was born here, this is where they nest. However, that doesn’t mean they don’t fly out; just not as often as other geese, giving me less to fret about.

Horatio ("H" for short). A 13-year-old gander whose parents let me help raise him almost from birth, Horatio usually flies in every day.. However, this year I didn't see him for about six months during the nesting and molting periods. Did I worry? Yes. I spent hours with him (and his parents Zo and Dad) while he was growing into a fine young gander. Today, he is as much a part of my family as my oriental short-haired cat Zhivago. However, I am resigned to the long absences. Every spring, I know he will disappear (the mate chooses the nesting place). I also know that is the way of geese.

Crip. To my delight, his five-year-old gander changed flight patterns. Until now, he has been coming for the annual six-week molt, arriving, like clockwork, around Memorial Day, then leaving for parts unknown as soon as his new feathers grow in. I have no idea where he goes the rest of the year; what rivers or mountains he crosses. I usually brace myself for his departure but this year, he surprised me. He stayed. He still flies out for days at a time but there are no more extended trips.

Zo and Dad. Zoey, who has since died, was for years the lead goose in my study group. We shared many experiences. I remember the time she and her mate were teaching the young popular flight routes. For about three weeks, every day about 5 p.m., they would return, usually landing at my feet. Then one day she didn’t show. About that time, a large group of about 100 geese few over. I was watching when suddenly I saw a goose drop out of formation; then another and another. I tried not to hope but it was the right number: two parents, three goslings and Horatio, who was with them that year. I still can’t figure out how the goslings knew to drop out of formation with their parents.

The Half Moon. He arrived one day about 13 years ago just after I met Zoey. Part of his upper beak was missing. I spent most of that summer spoiling him with cracked corn and other treats. Then one day he abruptly left and the family didn’t show until the following summer. I was feeding a small group of geese when I suddenly looked up and there he was. There was no mistaking that trademark beak. There had also been a drought that year and he was thin; I guess the beak deformity made it difficult for him to grasp what little grass there was. By the time he was ready to fly out, he was seasonably fat. He visited every summer for about five years and then disappeared.

Donnie was a rescue goose I befriended after someone dropped her off at our lake, having decided it was time for her to join her own kind. I wanted to get her into a group but in geese society, unless you’re part of an extended family, that’s like a miracle waiting to happen. Eventually, I conned Gandy and Olivia (Zo’s daughter) into letting her join them. I’d feed them bread and say, “One piece for Gandy, one for Livvy and one for Donnie.” Eventually they got the idea and one day when they flew out, she flew with them. Eventually she found a mate, a thin scraggy thing whose family I judged to be from a distance. I never saw her again. It’s no wonder I worry.

Baby Honker is probably my biggest disappointment. His parents, Olivia and Gandy, and an older sibling, Big Sister, absolutely doted on this youngster (an only child) for almost four years. Now we’re lucky if he shows up twice a year. After he found a mate, his flight habits changed. I haven’t seen him in months but eventually he’ll show. I only hope he hasn’t decided to visit his pals in the Boston suburbs ...Salem, Beverly and the like. His life — and my sanity — could depend on it.

Google my name and HuffPost for other stories on geese behavior or email me on how to manage geese humanely at your park: Nothing brings a community together like visiting geese. mlflannery123@gmail.com