Pet Articles

I Love Geese!
by Fiona Tankard

It began with a trip to my local market in Italy to get a rug. I honestly hadn't intended to buy anything remotely avian – despite a recent conversation with my husband and neighbour along the lines of:
Bruna: 'You should get some geese, they'll keep the grass down.'
Me. 'That's a really good idea.'
Alan: 'No, it isn't.'

The birds on the poultry stall were packed tightly into crates. Bought and sold by the handful, they were held up by their necks, their meal-making potential assessed, then they were pushed into brown cartons and carried away to their fate. I peered into a crate. Could these be geese? No, they had webbed feet. But then maybe geese had webbed feet? The stall-owner approached. 'Dica signora.' I found myself asking for two geese. He lifted a pair up, and two tiny yellow squawking creatures had just won the goose equivalent of the national lottery. 'Are they male or female?' I asked. He shrugged. So into the brown box they went, and cried all the way home. 'Did you get the rug?' asked Alan.

Growing Up

Over the next few weeks I watched their antics with total fascination. They chattered and twittered to each other incessantly, sticking together like Siamese twins. I bought them a paddling pool, which lasted until they learned how to pull the bung out. I named them Poppy and Fluffy. They grew into their names. Poppy acting as if on a permanent opium induced high and Fluffy, well, you know, Fluffy by name, psychopath by nature.

Their feathers grew glossy and white. Bruna told me that as their wings had crossed over at the back they were 'ready for the pot.' I ignored this advice, although I think Alan was keen. Poppy developed a little crown of feathers – she was a tufted Roman goose, renowned for their good nature. Fluffy wasn't a tufted Roman goose.

We had the builders in who joked about celebrating the end of the project with roast goose, yet in their lunch break one parked his car so he could watch them and another fed them scarps from his sandwiches. I pleaded with Leonardo, their boss, for an old bath so the geese could have a proper swim and he laughed his head off, but produced one anyway and then spent two hours (unpaid) helping me to set it in the ground. Very happy geese did complete somersaults underwater. I noticed that three burly Italian builders were standing watching them, spellbound.

Far From Birdbrains

One day, while cleaning their house, I found a huge nest containing one gigantic white egg. I took it ,feeling deceitful and ate it, feeling cannibalistic. Eventually guilt made me leave five for Poppy to sit on. Tow hatched on Alan's birthday and he was quite speechless with emotion. (I think that's what it was.) Despite dire warnings from locals about the male attacking the young I left them to it. I saw Bruna watching dewy-eyed as Fluffy became quite the goose equivalent of a New Man.

So what have I learned? That their eyes are azure blue. That they turn their heads to the sky when a plane passes. That they sigh when they're happy. That males will protect their family by attacking anything: paper, stones, cars, dogs, rakes, me; that a peck hurts and gives you a bruise the size of a dinner plate. That incest isn't an issue for geese. That they can't see their feet and trip over a lot. That they like fennel and dandelions, and are not that keen on grass. That they can live until they're 30. And that they understand things. On the morning after my dog had died, Fluffy advanced as usual, neck extended, hissing wildly. 'Not today, ' I said. 'Please.' And I swear, he looked at me and then turned and walked quietly away.