Ian, the Sebastopol Goose

A phone call yesterday from a distant neighbor added some excitement to our day.  (In the country, we are inclined to call people neighbors even though they may live miles away.)  We had met the neighbor a few years ago when searching for one of Gerry’s dogs, which had run away. When the dog showed up at her house, she had taken care of it and phoned us.  Yesterday she was the one with the problem.

 She explained to Gerald that she had three geese—two boys and one girl goose.  The two boys were fighting, she said, and she needed to remove one.  She thought one boy goose  would enjoy our lake and would we accept him to live there? 

 Gerald said yes, and she brought the boy goose named Ian to Woodsong.  My thought was that Ian would fly back to her house; but come to find out, she explained he was a Sebastopol goose and cannot fly. 

 Gerald went up to the attic he built in his shop and brought down a dog crate formerly used for Erin’s dog when visiting us.  He and the neighbor took it down to the lake and filled it with straw for Ian.  She put out some of the goose food she had brought in a coffee can, but she assured Gerald that Ian would be able to sustain himself with nature’s bounty. She had thought Ian would love our lake especially since  at her place he only had a child-size plastic pool to play in.  Well, Ian must have found the lake overwhelming, and he choose to follow them right back up the lawn on the lake-side of our house.  When they came inside, Ian kept walking around  the patio looking  in our windows at his former caregiver, who assured us Ian knew his name.

 So Gerald brought the crate with straw up to our covered patio and placed Ian in it there on the patio with the crate door wide open. I assume they explained it to Ian and encouraged him to go down to the lake later. Ian stayed there in the crate, and the neighbor left suggesting Gerald call her in a few days.  When Gerald checked the crate at bedtime after he returned from a Super Bowl supper and family party with Mary Ellen’s kids, Ian remained seemingly contented there.

 First thing this morning, Gerald went to check this Sebastopol goose, which he had looked up on the Internet and found was a German goose with soft fluffy feathers good for pillows. (I wondered if we might need to send DNA to Ancestry.com to make sure he was not really Scotch.) Alas, Ian was not in his crate and Gerald could not find him anywhere as he walked around the house.  Finally, at the other end of the patio on top of a compressor that serves some sort of purpose for our house, Ian had smartly enounced himself all cozy with heat from the compressor. . 

 Still hoping to fulfill the neighbor’s fantasy of Ian enjoying our lake and the wild geese flying in and out, Gerald again took Ian with the crate and food and placed them lakeside. Will Ian find comfort and pleasure there?  Are his feelings hurt by being abandoned by his human? Does he regret fighting with his brother—the other boy goose? Will he come back up the lawn  tonight to sleep on the compressor?  Our experience with Sebastopol geese has been limited until now.  We will find out perhaps if the varmints that have foiled our attempts at goose husbandry in the past  have their way with Ian. 

 P.S.  I wrote this in the morning, but by lunch it had started snowing.  Gerald had relented and brought this new fowl back to the covered patio.  Then worrying because Ian  had not taken the proffered  sustenance since arriving here, tonight he fed and watered him on the patio, which he had not planned to do. Who thinks I am correct that Ian will be back on that compressor in the morning?

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Friday, 24 May 2019

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