Laura Erickson's For the Birds

Baby Geese

This past weekend, I headed to Port Wing, Wisconsin, to go birding with my dog Photon. When I arrived at the sewage ponds at about 6:15 in the morning Saturday, there were 8 Herring Gulls hanging around. I often find one or two gulls there, but never more than three, which made me wonder what could be going on to attract so many. And I quickly found the answer—Saturday just happened to be the day the baby geese were hatching.

Watching little baby birds working their way out of eggs, so determined and steadfast for such tiny, unformed creatures, is a deeply hopeful sight, even when the baby birds belong to a species that is as over-populated as Canada Geese. And young goslings are winsome, adorable birds. The gulls found the sight hopeful, too, but as potential breakfast entrees.

When I arrived, one brand new family of five geese had dried off and were already swimming in the west pond. The mother and babies of the other family were still at the nest, though the babies were just about completely dry. That nest was right near the water’s edge, and the father was already in the west pond, calling softly but perhaps a bit impatiently, because the four babies were dry enough to move into the water, where they were far safer from predators. For some reason, the mother seemed reluctant to leave the edge of the nest, but even though I kept a good distance away, my entrance gave her something of a push, and she dropped down to the water. Three babies were completely ready to follow her, but the last was still a little awkward and confused. She swam out a little way, the first three babies right on her tail, and she called persistently while the last baby peeped and looked around, then seemed to figure out what was expected and scurried to the water’s edge, dropped in, and paddled as fast as its little legs could go to catch up to its family.

The gulls overhead seemed disappointed that Photon and I were there—this was precisely the opportunity they had been hoping for, one little baby behind the others, small and helpless enough to make easy pickin’s, but plump enough to make a complete meal. But they didn’t dare drop down to below my level, so the baby made it safely to its parents.

After they had swam a comfortable distance away, I peeked into the nest and suddenly realized why the mother was so reluctant to leave at first. One little baby goose had worked its way out of the egg, but then died in the nest. I don’t know if geese have a sense of numeration and what it means to have four hatched babies instead of five, or if she’d noticed that poor fifth baby struggling and was still hopeful that it would recover, but she clearly hadn’t wanted to leave it behind. But before I could even wonder about her loss, suddenly a new drama unfolded. The goose family that had already been swimming in the west pond seemed to not appreciate sharing their water with a new family. The male assumed an aggressive posture, so this new family swam fairly directly to the other side. The mother and babies waddled out of the water, and the babies started climbing atop the mother’s back. But the male stayed in the water, perhaps as a lookout for predators, perhaps to stake his claim on at least a little patch of the pond. But the other male took umbrage, swam directly over toward him and attacked, as suddenly and unexpectedly as anything I’ve ever seen. The aggressor lunged for his neck and bit, while his powerful wings beat the other bird, until finally he drove him underwater. I’ve never before seen geese go underwater. The female on shore watched the entire thing, her neck erect, while the mother with five babies in the water kept their distance, though that mother, too, watched every move. When the male popped up, the other male again attacked. Feathers were flying, and again he drove the other bird underwater and seemed to be trying to hold him there. But again the other male got away, now just about four feet from the shore. The aggressive male again shot toward him, and grabbed and started beating him with his wings, but this time the bird lunged up onto the shore and escaped. Both birds were clearly hurt, though probably not badly. They preened and shook, feathers flying up from both of them. The gulls were flying overhead, perhaps disappointed that neither of the geese had drowned or been beaten to death, perhaps disappointed that in all the confusion the babies stayed close to their respective mothers. As I headed off, both males were preening and seemed to be recovering, the mothers were busy with their babies, and the gulls were headed to the goose nest for a little breakfast. The natural world is filled with such dramatic, heartbreaking yet weirdly life-affirming moments.