_The Canada Goose._
Now I have told you that by protecting the one swallow’s nest at our
tile shed there were twenty-five nests the fifth year: and how the sweet
bluebird became so well acquainted with the members of our family as to
permit us to remove the roof of her house while she would sit there
within eight inches of our eyebrows, with her beautiful head turned
sidewise looking us square in the eyes, and then permit us to put the
cover back on, and she would not fly out. I have explained how the
robins fairly swarmed around our home when there was neither shrubbery
nor fruit to attract them there, and how the purple martins folded their
wings and came down out of the heavens, warbling their songs as they
descended, the very first day we had their home erected. But these
truths are simple compared with the facts contained in this chapter.
Some one has said “the silly old goose.” This, to my mind, is one of the
many demonstrations of how a man’s mouth can go off empty. For the facts
are that our Canada goose has a great amount of knowledge, and many
qualifications that the human race could well afford to profit by; and
although I was born under the protection of the American eagle’s wings,
and respect him in every way, never shooting one in my life (though I
scared one to death!) yet when you speak of our Canada goose, this bird
is one of the most intelligent, self-sacrificing creatures on earth, and
as for purity of character he has gotten the human race backed right off
the boulevard into the slums, and no person on earth can study him
without profiting by it. Personally, there has been many a time during
the last ten years of my life when I have felt like raising my hat to
the clean, gentlemanly principles exposed by one of these old ganders.
Now the question is, how did I become so well acquainted with them?
Well, about thirty years ago a few wild geese (as we call them) were
alighting on a sort of prairie then known as Cottam Plains, which is
about four miles due north of my home. As I was a noted hunter several
persons spoke to me about going out to shoot these geese, as no one had
apparently been able to kill one. At length one hunter came to me in
dead earnest. “Jack,” he said, “you want to get out there and try them.
They come nearly every day. They are old lunkers; I believe the old
ganders will weigh twenty-five pounds.” I enquired how many there were
and he said, “Fifteen; seven in one flock and eight in another.” As I
stood, thinking it over, I said to this man. “If one flock is there,
will the other bunch go and alight with them?” “Yes,” he replied in a
loud voice; “every time.”
[Illustration:
THE CANADA GOOSE
To get the effect of this picture, hold the book above your head, as
the Goose was, above mine, when I took the photograph.]
Well that day I went home, took the axe and chopped out the bodies of
three wooden wild geese decoys; then I used a drawing-knife for the rest
of the work; finally I had three geese standing on one leg in our back
yard—one leg each of course. And I had everybody who saw them laughing
at me. What color should I paint them, was the puzzle. I had never been
close enough to a wild goose to know anything about his color; I
couldn’t tell from hearing their faint “Honk!” I finally decided to
paint their breasts light and the rest a slate color. The neighbors
still kept laughing. Then when there were no persons around I would
practise the “Honk!” till the echoes from the buildings sounded
something like it.
One morning, about two o’clock, my brother-in-law and I hooked up the
Old Reliable and, believe me, we had some load in that old phaeton
buggy, the three blocks of wood, a spade, blanket and lantern. Away we
went. Fortunately when we got there the soft ground was frozen just
enough to hold us up, so we took the lantern and scoured the fields for
tracks. Finally we found goose-prints in an old, partly drowned-out corn
field which was adjoined by a field of fall wheat, no fence in sight. It
was evident that the geese lit on the wheat and then walked into the
corn stubbles. Here we selected our site. Standing these three decoys on
the wheat, I dug myself in on the edge of the corn field. I say dug
myself in, but not much, as the water was close to the surface; so I dug
a coffin-like cavity about six inches deep and covered myself with a
blanket which was, of course, the exact color of the ground. Three
corners of the blanket were staked and tied fast, arranged to cover this
muddy coffin. Then I gathered weeds and so forth and lined this grave to
keep me out of the mud.
At the faintest sign of day the other fellow took the old horse and all
the rest of our junk and drove fully half a mile away. At last, just
before sunrise my eyes caught a dark streak in the sky, away to the
south. So I examined the old gun, which was loaded with swanshot, lay
down on my back in this bog hole, covering myself with the blanket and
holding it firmly with my left hand with the gun in my right. There I
lay with just my eyes out, my heart almost beating the ground into a
pulp. It seemed so long I thought I must have been mistaken; they
couldn’t have been wild geese. I quietly called, twice, “A-honk!
A-honk!” Just then I heard a low reply to the east of me. Rolling my eye
in that direction, here were the eight geese going quartering by. So I
gave another low “A-honk!” and to my delight they turned and saw the
decoys, answering as they bowed their wings to alight with them.
But the keen eyes of this old gander detected that they were false.
Fortunately for me when he shied from the decoys he swung my way, and
just when they got in the right place I threw the blanket off with my
left hand; raising the gun and my body at the same time I fired, sitting
down. At the first shot the leader crumpled up with fourteen swanshot
driven almost through him, and his mate started to follow long before he
struck the frozen earth, leaving two distinct puffs of feathers floating
away on the frosty air, the six young screaming, and darting in all
directions for their lives away from their fallen parents. They went
screaming back in the direction from which they came.
As soon as my churn arrived we had a good laugh when we looked at the
decoys and the real geese. We soon loaded all up and could hardly get
home quick enough to repaint those blocks of wood. Then they looked
O.K., and fooled many a goose after that. But the weight of these geese
was far from twenty-five pounds, the gander weighing exactly ten pounds
and his mate one pound less.
I hunted geese every spring from then on, but they soon got wise and
moved their stopping place about eight miles west to what was then
called Walker’s Marsh. I even followed them up there and secured an odd
one now and then. I never killed over six in one season. This will give
you an idea of how scarce they were in this part.
But it wasn’t until 1903 that I really tumbled to see the depth of the
Canada goose. In March I saw a family of six passing my house. I felt
sure they were feeding on Cottam Plains, so the next morning found me
out there with a lantern searching for their tracks, and long before the
last stars had closed their eyes I had five decoys out and the blanket
staked down, ready for action. But it seemed they weren’t coming.
The sun is just high enough to be making golden windows in the distant
houses to the west of me when I look to the south and a short, dark line
appears in the sky. It is geese, sure; and they are coming straight this
way.
Just as I am crawling under I see, to my disgust, two men coming out to
ditch, right on the next farm; my heart sinks, as they will scare them
away. But on and on come the geese. I can now see them plainly, and
begin to hear their long-drawn-out safety notes, “A-h-k! A-h-k!” Imagine
my delight when I see them come right on past these men, heading
straight for me.
As they come over the field that I am in, a call comes from under the
blanket, “A-honk!” and the old leader replies, turning my way. Seeing
the decoys, they all bow their wings and drop their black feet to come
down. But just before they get in range of my deadly aim, this cunning
old father’s voice suddenly rings out on the morning air, “Khonk! Khonk!
Khonk! Khonk!” These sharp, alarming danger-cries are given in rapid
succession, and every goose darts for his life. Their terrified cries
can hardly be described. They finally fall in line again and fly back
towards the lake.
That morning I was all alone and as I urged the driver along I was doing
some tall thinking. And really I felt like a one-cent piece coming home
from Klondyke! Here were my thoughts: Why did he pass right over, within
shooting range of these two men, and then shy before he got that close
to me? Moreover, why were they so dreadfully frightened? Possibly
because he saw one red hair of my topknot projecting from under that
blanket and, to his sorrow, he had seen that fellow before. “That’s our
deadly enemy! Everybody get, for your lives!” were the cries he uttered.
Well, these thoughts presented themselves to me in this way: He does
know me. And these are some of the same geese that come around here
every spring, for they frequent the same places. To be frank, I studied
wild geese until I felt like flying. Surely they must be the same geese.
They do know me as their enemy. No man on earth knows their cunningness
and depth. If they know me as their enemy, surely they would know a
friend if they had one. But what can I do? I own only ten acres of land,
and it is very much disfigured by taking about three feet of the surface
off for making drain-tile and brick. But I will try.
So I called the neighbors (mostly boys) together and told them if they
would not shoot at a wild goose around here I would bring some right to
that place and we would shoot a limited number when the opportunity was
right. This seemed too good to be true, as only one of them had ever
shot a wild goose, and all jumped at the scheme.
I graded up a bank at the far side of this sore eye ten acres, making,
not a pond, but a mud-hole. Then I bought seven wing-clipped Canada
geese from an old gentleman who had trapped them unlawfully, put them
back in this cavity and fed them there. They soon became quite tame and
interesting. This was in the spring of 1904. The seven geese got so they
roamed all over the ten acres, making this mud-hole their home; but no
wild ones ever came. In 1905 none came; 1906 brought the same result;
and even 1907 came, but no geese. And really I was the mark of the
neighborhood; the questions I was asked would surely jar the cherries on
Aunt Sarah’s Sunday bonnet.
But April the second, 1908, was my innings, for the whole neighborhood
was aroused long before breakfast. “The geese have come! the geese have
come! Jack said they would come!” and everybody had a gun.
Now I was face to face with another serious problem, but all listened to
me as I explained that if we did not shoot at them until they got
settled down and made this their spring home, the ones we did not kill
would return next spring and surely bring more with them. Every hunter
was very reasonable, and, after having a quiet chat, each took his gun
back home. In about three weeks I hoisted the signal and every one was
on deck. I believe I was the biggest boy of the bunch. All of us went
over to the tile factory and watched these eleven geese from the
upstairs window until the goose fever got a few notches higher than our
nerves. Then we all came down and marched up behind the embankment.
“Now,” I said, “don’t shoot at them sitting, or you will hit my tame
ones.” Then I said, “Cock your guns,” and I gave an alarming “Honk!” and
that instant every one of the eleven geese was in the air, and “Bang!
Bangety! Bang!” went the eight guns into them. When the soft coal smoke
had finally cleared away, five geese lay dead on the muddy water. The
other six, screaming with fright, flew away to the lake.
Now how fortunate this was for me: The eight guns came from five homes,
and thus each home had a good fat goose for the oven. And all was going
well so far.
I did not expect to see these geese come back until another spring, but
to my surprise in about two hours they were circling high in the air and
honking for their lost companions. Finally they went away again, but the
next morning they were back, bright and early, and to my great
satisfaction they lit and fed with mine, and it was surprising how soon
they quieted down. I asked the neighbors not to shoot at them again that
spring, and all kindly agreed.
Then came a whole lot more fun for the public. “Jack Miner is not going
to shoot those six geese; he says they will come back next spring!”
Really this furnished fun for a great percentage of the community. One
old gentleman told me how his great-uncle Dave killed ’steen wild geese
before breakfast; and this dear old gentleman’s white hair just shook as
he explained the points, how to clean right up on this six, and not one
could get away if his plans were carried out. Why, bless your life, they
had gotten so tame I honestly believe I could have killed them with a
fishing pole. Yet of course I respected his grey hairs enough not to
interfere with his trembling thoughts.
One morning about May 1st, they rose up and circled higher and higher,
and started straight north.
It was not until the next spring that the flood of sneering questions
poured in upon me! “Jack, when do you expect the six geese to return?”
And another smart fellow said, “Jack, which direction will they come
from?” But feeling confident I would be able to laugh last I just
gritted my teeth inwardly, and smiled from the outside, and answered as
kindly as I possibly could. I only remember answering one fellow short.
He said, “Jack, when are the geese coming?” I said, “Likely they will
come when they get ready.”
Sunday morning, March 18th, 1909, the ground was frozen as hard as
Pharaoh’s heart. I was out watering our self-starter. While she was
drinking out of the trough I was putting in the time talking to my pet
geese which were not over thirty yards away. All at once they all
started honking at the very top of their voices and acting extremely
strangely; but in spite of their chatter, when I pricked up my ears I
could hear strange geese honking, and looking over my right shoulder I
saw something that caused my heart to fairly jump. Here was a string of
Canada geese, with wings bowed, coming right towards me. Finally they
dropped their black feet and lit on the ground, some of them not over
twenty-five yards from where I was standing, and I had the great
pleasure of seeing these wild geese dance and flap their wings with joy
as they honked aloud to each other, apparently introducing their
families and friends. I fully expected to see them fly away at any
instant, but no. As they saw me, the leader spoke quite sharply, and all
was as still as night in a graveyard, with their eyes rivetted right on
me. But they were quiet for only a few seconds; then they honked louder
than ever, and our geese flapped their wings and shouted, apparently for
joy.
Well I finally withdrew, coming away as slowly as a pall-bearer waiting
to cross on the Detroit-Windsor bridge. I put the old nag in the shafts
and we went to church; but for all the good that sermon did me, I might
as well have stayed home. He evidently preached from somewhere between
“Generations and Revolutions” but you could not prove it by me. All I
could think about were these twenty-six Canada geese that the six had
brought back with them, thirty-two all told. Best of all, it was my turn
to laugh, and I wanted to get back home to give vent to my feelings, and
as soon as the benediction was pronounced I was the first one out the
door, got into our machine, and, believe me, we went home in high.
On or about April 12th I had the photographer out and the accompanying
photograph taken.
[Illustration:
THIS PHOTOGRAPH SHOWS THE TOTAL FLOCK OF GEESE IN 1909, INCLUDING
TWELVE OR SIXTEEN OF OUR OWN, ALSO, A FEW DUCKS]
[Illustration:
THE FLOCK OF WILD GEESE, 1910
This photograph was taken after we had shot the twenty-six.]
A day or so later I gave the signal and the gunners all came. We shot
ten and let twenty-two go. And on May 1st they all circled high and took
the airline Hudson Bay Limited.
That year did not bring me quite so many inquiries. One interested man
asked how many I thought would come next spring; I said, “Possibly sixty
or seventy-five.” He said, “Is that so?” I replied, “I don’t know.” But
on March 4th, 1910, they started coming again, and for two weeks the
flock kept getting larger until there were over four hundred. We shot
twenty-six and allowed the rest to go north, although we could just as
easily have shot two hundred. But before they left I was fortunate in
getting this picture, which gives you a glimpse of what game protection
will do. Do not kill all you can but “Let the mother go, that it may be
well with thee, and that thou mayest prolong thy days.”
The last contingent left April 27th. By the way, this is the earliest we
ever knew the last of them to leave.
Right here I wish to make an explanation, that although we shot
twenty-six, they were not all eaten by us shooters, but were given
around to our nearest neighbors.
On February 20th, 1911, they started coming from the South again, and in
less than three weeks there was a small cloud of them. Really I did not
know there were so many Canada geese on earth.
As I have previously stated, my home is three miles north of Lake Erie,
and these geese most always go to the lake for the night; and by times
when the first bunch would be alighting in and around the ponds at my
home, you could not see the south end of the string of them, coming.
Now I faced another problem: Where was the feed coming from? Very true,
I have made a little park just west of my house and have graded out a
pond one hundred and ten feet in diameter; yet this does not furnish
them with feed. So I quit feeding them in what we now call the north
pond, and just fed in the park, thinking the wilder ones would go on and
that only the old acquaintances would come to the house. But that did
not work out very satisfactorily; they were bound to make my home their
home.
[Illustration:
SPRING, 1911
The earth, the water and the heavens were literally alive with geese
the fourth year. The photograph, of course, shows only part of the
flock of geese. Drain tile and brick manufacturing plant is in the
rear.]
One morning we neighbors were shooting a few at the north pond. We shot
into a family of five. I shouted “Don’t shoot, boys, they are too far
off,” but the words were too late. The bangs of the guns were the only
reply I heard, and two geese fell dead; one extremely large gander fell
with a broken pinion; the other two flew away to the lake. At my request
the boys gave me the big gander. I took him to the house and performed a
surgical operation on him, myself. I first tied the severed arteries
with strong linen thread, then cut the end of the wing right off and let
him go in the park. In about an hour the other two geese came back,
circling very high. By this time there were fully one thousand geese
around the premises; all seemed to be honking to bring them down.
Finally they circled over the park and this big, broken-pinioned fellow
gave a honk, and instantly they answered and started to lower, making
the air fairly hum as they descended. They lit near the house, with
their wounded brother. To be brief, on May 2nd, the goose migrated with
the big flock, but the big gander never left his broken-pinioned
brother. Really it was one of the most self-sacrificing sights of my
life to see this big gander give up all his liberties of this North
American continent, and voluntarily live in captivity with his brother.
We named them David and Jonathan.
[Illustration:
DAVID AND JONATHAN]
Dear old Jonathan! How he would get David to back clear across the pond,
then run against the wind and try to fly! Yes I have seen this happen
fully twenty times a day; Jonathan would fly across the pond, but when
he saw his brother David was not coming he would alight and swim back to
him. This sight took the desire to shoot out of most of my neighbors,
and there has not been a goose shot on my premises since.
When fall came we thought possibly Jonathan might go South, but no;
neither our cold zero winters, nor the extremely hot summers could drive
him from his brother.
Jonathan’s noble ways soon won the admiration of every visitor that came
on our premises. While David was one of the heaviest wild geese I have
ever seen, Jonathan stood a little taller, but not quite so heavy-set.
He was very powerful and active; more so than any goose we have on the
premises. Having both wings to defend himself with he always faced an
approaching enemy. They lived together in the park for seven years, but
sad to say, in January, 1918, one morning when I looked out the window,
here was dear old Jonathan lying dead on the snow near the centre of the
pond where they always roosted. The hand-writing on the snow told the
story. A great horned owl had attacked them in the night. The other
eight or ten wing-clipped geese, including David, had run under the
evergreens and shrubs. Jonathan, having both wings, gave the enemy
battle, but being handicapped in the darkness, the owl sunk his
grappling-hooks into Jonathan’s head and put his eyes out, killed him
and ate his neck off right at the breast bone, drew some of his entrails
and ate them. Useless to say we all felt sad, and the telephone rang
time and again that day, “Is it true an owl killed old Jonathan?” “Yes.”
And with a sigh they would hang the receiver up.
[Illustration:
THE DEATH OF JONATHAN]
But I was determined to avenge his death. The other geese did not come
out that day. When night came I concealed a trap in dead Jonathan’s
feathers, as I knew this murderer would come back. And the next morning
this bird-eating devil was fast. Really I could have burned that owl at
the stake with a good heart.
In 1912, owing to the weather being very cold and snowy, the geese did
not come until March 16th.
In 1913 they came on March 10th. On Good Friday of the last-mentioned
year the wind blew a perfect gale, and there was a five-acre field full
of geese here, as thick as in any picture shown with the exception of
the one where the ladies have driven them into a huddle. A piece of
sheet iron blew off the engine room at the tile factory and rolled end
over end until it struck the wire fence that enclosed the goose field.
Every bird screamed and took flight, going with the wind. When they were
about a half mile away they turned to come back, but this iron was
bright on one side and they could see it. There they stood, floating in
the air. Only we older people that have seen the clouds of passenger
pigeons, back in the seventies, have any idea of what this skyfull of
geese looked like. I stood and looked at them for a few minutes. Then I
went and took the tin and rolled it up. This took me two or three
minutes, as the tin and the wind were both stubborn. All at once I heard
“Honk!” and behold, here were these thousands of geese alighting in the
field again, some within one hundred feet of me. I finally took the roll
of tin or sheet iron back to the buildings. Stopping on my way to rest
and glancing back at the wild geese I was fully convinced that they knew
me from a piece of sheet iron, for by this time they were all on the
ground again, lying down facing the wind, and were equally as thick over
all that five-acre field as they are shown in any one of the
accompanying photographs.
Another advantage comes with the wild birds: There is always something
new cropping up.
In the winter of 1909–10 I had eleven of my own, pinioned, wild geese.
And as we youngsters wanted the ice good and clean in the park for
skating, I turned the geese out and they were living over the fence, to
the north. One stormy, cold day, as they were sitting in the lee of the
tile factory buildings, two big American eagles attacked them. I ran in
the house and grabbed my high-powered rifle in one hand and three or
four cartridges in the other; out and down the road I went, just as fast
as my moccasined feet would carry me. Soon I had gotten into the south
end of the shed without being observed by the eagles. I at once ran
upstairs, and went quickly but quietly, and fortunately to help muffle
the sound of my moccasins, a little snow had drifted in on the shed
floor. Soon I was at the north end.
[Illustration:
GEESE RISING FROM THE POND
Photograph taken from the public highway.]
Peeping through a crack in the side, I saw a sight that to me was
beautiful, and I only wish I could give you the picture. For here, upon
the crusty snow, were these two big, bald eagles, one about ten feet in
front of the geese, the other fully four rods away. But where was the
old gander that we called Tom Johnson, and his opponent, whom I have
seen fight for fully half an hour for supremacy of the premises? Had
they run under the shed, or flunked in any way? No, no. The nine weaker
geese had huddled together and could have been covered with an ordinary
wagon-box; but Tom Johnson and this other powerful gander were standing
shoulder to shoulder, right in the face of this monstrous eagle. As the
eagle would walk a little, sidewise, on the crusty snow, the geese, with
eyes rivetted upon him, were doing likewise. There wasn’t a sound
uttered, but it was a great sight to see these faithful,
self-sacrificing old ganders at the head of their little bunch with
their wings up, ready to strike, saying by their actions, “You must cut
us down before you can have one of our loved ones.”
There I stood for fully five minutes, with my nerves just tingling, at
the highest tension. Finally I couldn’t stand it any longer, and I slid
the three cartridges into the magazine of the rifle and quietly worked
the lever which threw one cartridge into the barrel. As the north slide
door was about one inch open, I sneaked over there. If those eagles had
touched a goose I would have knocked a hole in one big enough for a dog
to jump through.
But good things always come to those who wait, and eventually the eagle
farthest away turned her head sidewise and began to show signs of
moving, which she did, but not towards the geese. She just simply
squatted, opened up her broad, powerful wings, and with a few strokes
she started straight west. In a few seconds the other turned half
around, rose up against the wind, and followed. But the geese kept their
eyes continually fixed on them as far as they could be seen.
Yes, they apparently settled by arbitration. When I saw how it turned
out my heart bubbled over with more love than ever for these two
beautiful birds, and as I started for the house I couldn’t help but
thank Almighty God for the Canada goose and the American eagle, and ask
Him to hasten the day when this whole world mass of humanity will settle
their differences as these lovely birds did on this occasion. As I took
the cartridges out of the rifle and hung it on the gunrack, I caught
myself singing the chorus of an old song my mother used to sing:
“If I were Queen of France,
Much more the Pope of Rome,
I would have no fighting men abroad
Nor weeping maids at home;
All this world would be at peace,
Every king should have his rights,
For I’d have them that make the quarrels
Be the only ones to fight.”
Yes, such good lessons as this are continually darting at one who is on
speaking terms with the Canada goose.
Some time ago I purchased a pair of Egyptian geese from a breeder in
Illinois. As they have such beautiful plumage I thought they would add
to the attractions around my home, but they turned out to be meaner and
far more treacherous than stagnant ditch-water, continually hunting
trouble with any creature whom they can dominate. November 14th, as I
was out feeding the birds, they caught a wild duck and both piled in,
and would have killed her in less than a minute only that a big wild
Canada gander heard her squawk. He left his family, who were feeding,
flew across the pond and with one blow from his powerful wings he
knocked that Egyptian goose all but cold; the other Egyptian took the
hint, just in time, giving the duck her liberty. And that Canada
gentleman was back at his post in less than twenty seconds.