Leonae is understandably very sad about the unfortunate fate which awaited her Egyptian goslings
which she nurtured [as she thought] to the very best of her ability.
IN MEMORIAM
LEONAE BLECHER
In memory of the beautiful young geese who suffered and died because of my ignorant love.
I knew very little about Egyptian geese, although I walked past them at the Emmarentia Dam
nearly every day for 40 years. All that changed when a goose nested on our roof last November
and hatched out seven fluffy babies who suddenly appeared in our pool. They were of course
adorable; downy little things with cute white spots.
They were sucked almost immediately into the leaf-sock in the shallow-end. We gasped in horror,
thinking that they’d all be killed. But no! My gardener pulled them out unscathed, and quickly tied a
piece of netting over the mouth of the sock.
The next problem was that they couldn’t climb out of the pool. We devised a ramp by putting the
end of a long metal garden chair into the water on the top step. We herded them to the steps, and
they found their way out, but still needed an old towel to prevent their little feet catching in the
metal mesh of the chair.
A host of questions arose in my mind! Would the pool chlorine poison them? What did they need
for survival? And so on. I phoned the S.P.C.A, the Zoo, Bird Life South Africa, a leading
ornithologist, and finally “FreeMe” – the wild-life organization. “FreeMe” said they would come and
take them away, if I wanted, but that they would not be able to catch the parents.
“Oh no!“ I exclaimed in horror, “How cruel to separate parents and babies!” They said no more:
but Oh! how I came to wish that they had told me exactly the sorts of things I might be letting
myself in for! And – far more important – what sort of things I would very probably be letting those
innocent geese in for. That’s why I’m writing this – to warn other animal lovers of what their
ignorant love can lead them into.
Well, we found this goose family so fascinating we spent hours watching them. Mother Goose was
a superb mother, in nearly permanent attendance, honking anxious warnings when we appeared,
and cuddling her little downy flock under her puffed-up wings for sleep. Father was very much
around in the early days, then less often present.
I worried about what they would eat. “Don’t worry,” my gardener told me, “their mother will bring
them food”.
How wrong he was! Our pool is surrounded by a very limited amount of grass, plus some shrubs in
the rockeries. The whole area is enclosed with walls and gates, so that the geese had no access
to any other vegetation. Only flying could give them that. The goslings were soon wreaking havoc
on the grass, and I bought some wild bird seed – which they weren’t too sure about. I consulted a
very old Roberts bird book, and saw that they liked mealies and peanuts. For a few weeks we
were forever scrounging or buying mealies which the little ones adored. Peanuts were too hard for
them. I made frequent calls to the bird experts requesting information and advice.
I bought 10 kg of Chick-chick from Pick ‘n Pay, and they really liked that when it was mixed with a
daily tin of dog food; they told me the goslings needed protein and lots of water, in a “goose soup”
– very sloppy. I felt like a farmer’s wife as I approached the geese with my big pot of food, and
loved to see them rush up eagerly, all seven of them thrusting their beaks into the round food dish.
They made cute slurping noises as they greedily sucked up the soup. Later I was told that Chick-
chick was wrong – they needed duck pellets. So out I went and bought 10 kg of duck pellets. We
had an ever-more difficult job to find them green leaves. We stripped our vegetable garden,
begged old lettuces from local vegetable shops, and somehow kept up a supply of what the
experts told us they needed.
Meanwhile, the pool area became a sea of goose-poo, and the pool got increasingly
contaminated.
Of course they became pets; they knew our voices and came running. Their unfailing gentleness
amazed me. Never did I see them competing for food or disobeying their mother. In fact the exact
way in which they imitated her every move – except for flying – was extremely amusing. A couple
of times we saw her dive into the pool and swim the whole length underwater. Immediately the
seven goslings did the same. If she dipped her beak in at the deep end, they all waddled up on
their little webbed feet and did the same. Mother Goose, too, stopped honking at us, and allowed
us to come very close to her. They all trusted us.
They were about five weeks old when I went to Cape Town on holiday for three weeks. I was very
upset when my maid phoned to tell me that she had found one baby drowned in the pool in the
morning – his foot caught in the string fastening the netting over the suction sock. The mother was
standing sadly beside him. ONE DOWN – SIX TO GO.
On my return they were now eight weeks old and had grown enormously. They had lost all the
baby fluff and had the beginnings of spiky feathers. I was shocked to see that they had eaten all
the grass in the pool area and were now starting to feed on the pot plants on the patio. And of
course there was goose-poo everywhere.
I immediately got on to the experts, who warned me that if we were to take them to the
Emmarentia or other dam before they were able to fly, they would very likely be attacked by the
resident geese there. So – with a sinking heart – I kept them on for another four weeks, watching
them develop lovely shiny wing colours and grow ever stronger and bigger, and I hoped
desperately that they would suddenly spread their beautiful new wings and soar off to freedom and
a natural goose life.
It got to be very difficult: I was nagging my poor gardener every morning at 6 a.m. before he left for
his painting jobs to go and hand-cut grass and then chop it small enough for them to handle,
because there was no vegetation left that they considered edible. On weekends we took all our
own and neighbours’ lawnmower cuttings and dumped them for the geese to eat and sleep on. To
my worried eyes the adolescent geese looked alternately depressed – surely pecking growing
grass was their occupational therapy? – and ravenously, restlessly hungry, searching every nook
and cranny of the confined space for insects or whatever they found to eat there. I feared they
were malnourished and would never fly; I wondered if the limited space was preventing them
getting the exercise they needed to learn to fly. I felt torn by a horrible dilemma: these innocent
and helpless creatures were utterly dependant on me, and I – in all love – had made them so. I felt
increasingly depressed and worried that they were needing artificial feeding every day, but
convinced that to set them free at the dam would get them killed.
The bird books and the experts told me that the fledgling stage ends at between eight and twelve
weeks. So, finally, when they were twelve and a half weeks and showed no sign of taking off, I
asked the “FreeMe” people to come and advise.
“My dear, this is the Ritz Hotel! They will never fly because they have no incentive to do so!” the
Director told me.“They are quite big enough for release now, and must go to the dam.”
So it was arranged that we would take them to a small lake below the dam early the following
morning. 6 a.m. saw an interesting procession. We opened the doors and gates from the pool area
into the street and drove the geese down the road. Mother Goose followed them, honking madly.
Into the park, through the wet grass and mud – Father Goose joined us here – and finally, the
goose family plopped into the water.
Naively, I thought that was the end of the story. No ways! Mother Goose clearly did not approve of
the site we had chosen, and we had four days of high drama to come. The day of the exodus, I
found some of the geese inside an electronic gate opposite the park and there were none to be
found at the lake where we had left them all. Then these too disappeared, but as night fell, my
maid shouted that they were all walking along the road coming to our house – having spent the
day at a neighbour’s pool in our road. In fact they turned back there for the night.
Next morning my maid found one dead in the road near our house. “The tummy is out” she told
me. Dog? Cat? Car? I was heartsore! The poor creature had clearly been trying to return to his
home. I felt so guilty and sad. TWO DOWN: FIVE TO GO.
Worse was in store! On the Friday, we found Mother and young ones on the road over the
Emmarentia Dam at 5 p.m. in peak hour traffic in pouring rain. Stopping the traffic, and praying
frantically, my maid and I managed to drive them down to the dam proper, only to hear an ear-
splitting fracas as the local geese threw the family out. Ten minutes later they were crossing the
dam road once more. Back to the park, and my maid managed to get them back to the neighbour’s
house. By nightfall I found one in our pool, and early next morning there were two of them. I had
been warned that on no account must I feed them, so I had to steel myself to let them stay hungry.
After all, they could only have got back to the pool by flying, which meant they could fly out and
find food.
Saturday morning was the dreadful climax. Two “FreeMe” volunteers arrived and netted the three
at the neighbour and one of the two back with us – the last one disappeared - piled them into
plastic lidded crates. Janet tried desperately to net the mother, but, as they had warned us from
the beginning, it’s virtually impossible to catch the adults. If only she had been able to come, she
would most likely have been able to protect her young. We drove to the Emmarentia Dam, and I
was so happy that they would be able to lead a natural life at last.
Released from the closed crates where they were fluttering and banging, the four little geese
swam off, but within a few minutes, two very fierce and powerful adult geese started dive-bombing
them, pecking them and pushing them under water to drown them. Thank God two of the young
geese manage to flutter out of the water. Janet netted them and returned them to the crates, but
one disappeared and the fourth was far out, being attacked by the two big geese. It was so
agonizing to watch this gentle innocent young bird being murdered, and to be so unable to help.
Luckily we spotted a small rowing boat quite far away, and shouted to the two rowers, telling them
what was happening, and they went – terribly slowly! – to fish the nearly-drowned little goose out
from well below the surface in a net they had with them. Receiving him on shore, we thought he
was nearly dead - utterly limp and sodden, but his eyes were open and he was breathing. Janet
wrapped him in her jersey. He was dreadfully cold. She decided to take the three of them to
“FreeMe.” FIVE DOWN AND TWO TO GO – BUT THE ONE WE COULDN’T FIND AT THE DAM
WE HAD TO PRESUME KILLED BY THE HOSTILE ADULT GEESE. SO REALLY ONLY ONE
LEFT NOW.
I came home feeling sick to the core of my being! Mother Goose was flying backwards and
forwards in our road, honking and honking for her lost children. My heart sank even lower. I felt so
terribly guilty and ashamed. Is this what my love and care for these young creatures had created
for them all? How utterly foolish I had been! I thought I knew what was best for them: I certainly did
not!
I heard that the semi-drowned goose was warmed and dried and it recovered. He and his two
siblings are doing well at “FreeMe”, who will release them soon to a safe dam far away.
I thought that was finally the end of the story – but it continues.
The young goose who had vanished when the others were netted and taken to the dam soon re-
appeared in our pool area. I shudder when I imagine how lonely he must feel, and how he must be
wondering where all his brothers and sisters are – if geese are capable of such thoughts and
feelings. His mother and father seem to be spending the nights here with him. They all arrive when
it’s pretty dark, and all three fly away soon after sunrise. The grass is starting to send up thin green
spikes once more – thank goodness they are finding food elsewhere - but the piles of goose- poo
are there every morning. I can’t keep away from the windows overlooking the pool. My heart lifts
when I see the dark silhouettes on the edge of the pool as the darkness lightens – Mother to one
side and Father to the other side of Junior - but my gardener says we must soon drive them away.
So there it is, then: one drowned in our pool by accident; one killed in the road trying to come
home to us; one missing at the dam, presumed drowned by attacking geese; three far from where
Mother Goose can find them; the last one still around here. Will he find a safe place in the wild
somewhere?
A top ornithologist has assured me that in nature, there are always losses; that’s why geese have
so many offspring. So I feel a bit better about it all. But I bitterly regret that I ever let them live in
our pool, and I will make sure that no goose nests here again. The results turned out to be
anything but kind and loving. Wild creatures must stay wild – or, if they are injured and need
human care, they must be in the hands of people who know what they are doing.
“Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do!”
Father, forgive me – for I certainly did not know what I was doing.
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