Something else about Sam

I mean, the only thing to do is to go with the flow right? Accept things as they come.

Like when your neighbour judges you fit enough to tend to the needs of their backyard goose while they fly south. You’re onto it and, lo-and-behold, things work out just fine. Take Sam for instance: The 12-year-old gander and I are getting right along. And the best part is I’ve gotten over the trepidation of not being fit for the task. I don’t imagine myself to be in over my head: not yet that is. And a few more for-instances: Things I’ve come to know: like Sam’s incessant honk when I arrive near the barn where he stays is not so much to sound an alarm like he use to, but now I’m hearing more of a ‘hey, how are ya’ sounds-like. I’d venture to say that Sam seems to be darn right content with my visits. He quiets soon after I enter his stall abode; then he checks me out, pecking me delicately all over as if he’s searching for crumbs. Much like a dog or cat does when they put you under their sniff-radar after you’ve been away from home awhile. Geese seem to read you similar-like.

So I find myself with the back door of the barn open, sitting out on an overturned, frozen-in-theice galvanized tub watching Sam do one of his most favourite things. You see, in the notes left behind by Sam’s owners, Liz and Chris? On page three, second paragraph, I came across the sentence that mentioned Sam would be up for a bath anytime I felt inclined to fill his pool.

So this sunny afternoon I’m feeling inclined; it’s really not that a big deal to haul out the kiddies’ pool; you know the ones, the blue plastic jobbies that come on sale in September. Well Sam’s is obvious, leaning against the wall in his barn abode. Even I can find it so I haul it out. Does feel a little weird filling a wading pool in the snows of March, but I’ve been known to do worse. I carry on. This thing holds a couple of hundred litres of water, no problem: the hose is barely unravelled and fired-up when my buddy paws at the edges of the pool like the Michelin Man on snowshoes. Sam balances on the edge before leaning forward, and all 20 pounds of him land head first into the hose spray. Meant to tell him that it’d be easier if he waited for the pool to fill: Then I wouldn’t get hosed at the same time: I’ll have to remember that one.

Must say it is peaceful back here: The cooing of pigeons in the rafters; the plaint of the mourning doves in the pines, the call-answer of a rattled crow riding low to the ground. And I just realized where that expression came from. You know the one. I’m sure you’ve heard it once or twice whenever someone mentions quiet: ‘So quiet you can hear a goose fart in the pond’. Well that’s Sam, but he pays no notice: He’s having way too much fun: rolling and plunging his long gooseneck down, down as far as can be into the water; then repeat; back to step one; start all over: and over and over. He barely has the time to honk back like he normally does whenever I begin to strike up a conversation. He even seems to be ok with my singing. Sheeesh! We have come a long way.

Geese of Sam’s variety- Embden—have evolved from the wild Greylag of Europe. His evolution has made him bottom heavy and no longer fit for flying. But get Sam upset and he’ll do a warrior dance. He’ll flap his wings like no tomorrow and hop around in semi lift-off mode. Put it this way. Even coyotes keep shy of him.

Remaining in the genes of the domestic goose are family loyalties. While geese factor everywhere in literature— Chaucer, the Odyssey—and in many instances described in the context as goosish or silly goose, what can be said of them is that they exhibit a family existence similar to human family life or better. A goose never leaves one of its own behind. Should a wild goose become injured during its trek, another goose will leave the flock and stay with its fallen comrade until it has recovered or until its final breath.

Waterfowl were probably of the first animals to be domesticated by man. I’ve yet to figure who domesticated man, but we’ll leave that one for another day. Archaeologists have uncovered evidence of handraised geese in Egypt 3000 years ago. Apparently, sacred flocks occupied Greek and Roman temples. The Romans owed a debt to the geese that sounded the alarm on a surprise attack by the Gaul in 390 BC.

Medieval peasants were also fond of geese. In their case, the waterfowl were easy to take stock of because geese fed primarily off of grass; they could be driven to the goose fairs in the fall in flocks, and they provided a rich food source. Live poultry made for dandy Christmas gifts, and goose was top of the list.

Think of goose as the cow of the poultry world: meat, fat, eggs, down and feathers, all in one gaggle. But I keep these facts close to the heart, because every once in a while Sam’ll turn to me from his pool wonderin’ what I’m wonderin’; I do my best not to have my mind on pâté de foie gras on toast crisps or anything like that; for his sake, I picture vegetarian, give him a smile and carry right on sittin’.

There’s a way lot more to my times with Sam that I’m about to discover. But the sun’s easin’ across the barnyard and me sittin’ on a frozen metal tub is freezin’ the sittin’ parts of me, so I’ll hang onto my scratch pad and leave the rest ‘til next time we meet this way.

“Okay Sam, your pool’s soon to be a skating rink. Gotta head back inside.”