By Stewart Coffin
When we moved to Old Sudbury Road in 1964, our plan from the start was to abandon the nursery business and concentrate on farming and gardening. Jane grew up on a poultry farm in New Hampshire, so poultry was her specialty. Not long after we moved in, a man came into our yard with seven Toulouse geese in his truck he wanted to get rid of. He had first gone to Drumlin Farm, but as usual, they did not want them and redirected him to us.
Incidentally, that man lived in Waltham. That might seem like an unlikely place to raise geese, but his home was on a secluded peninsula on the Charles River where you might think you were way out in the country and is probably all changed now. His reason for getting rid of the geese was that they did not get along with his dog. He also raised Muscovy ducks, and later he gave those to us, too.
There was one gander, Whitey, who was clearly the leader; one younger gander; and five females. We let them roam freely. They did such a good job on our lawn that we rarely had to mow it. You just had to wipe your shoes or feet before coming into the house. They had nesting boxes scattered about and raised many young. We also had a commercial-sized incubator given to us by the Woodmans down the road that produced even more. Some we ate, and some we sold or gave away.
Our children had a pet Collie dog, Dusty, a replacement for Rusty, who was hit by a car. In case you were wondering about “sweet lips” in the title of this piece, Dusty was not only friendly but too much so. When I might be lying on my back, perhaps working on the car, I could not stop him from lapping my face — hence my nickname for him from the lyrics of the Jim Reeves song, “He’ll Have to Go.”
Dusty came to us as a puppy, and perhaps as a result, he was always intimidated by the geese. Folks who came to visit were sometimes afraid to get out of their car, especially because of Whitey’s aggression during nesting season. I used to play with him at those times. I would get on my hands and knees, stick my face right into his and ask, “Whitey, are you really serious about this?” and he would back off.
One night Whitey was badly injured, probably by a coyote or stray dog. The young gander, who may have been Whitey’s son, then seized the opportunity to take over being leader of the flock. Poor Whitey, humiliated, abandoned the others and roamed about on his own. But then the strangest thing happened. He became attached to Jane, following her about and even waiting outside when she went in. Yes, I know, hard to believe, but note the photo. When Jane baked a birthday cake for herself, we set it on the driveway momentarily while I went in to get my camera, and look what happened.
Stew’s Views is an occasional column by longtime Lincoln resident Stewart Coffin, who writes about science, nature, economics, history, music, poetry, humor — and puzzles. See previous entries here.
Leave a Reply