Speed Dating, Canadian Goose-Style (Repeat)

It's that time when lots of shows go into re-runs, so forgive me for this re-run while I'm enjoying the sunshine in Savannah!

It's the time of year when we desperately search for signs of spring's impending arrival; crocus blooms, robin song and warm sunshine on our shoulders. Seeing my way through a third Minnesota winter, I seek more certainty.

Then I heard it last week, the yonk-yonk-yonnnnnkk of the Canada goose. I figure they know something I don't. They didn't seem to believe in the tournament snowstorm myth and just winged their way back to the land of so many lakes.

To paraphrase Tennyson, it's spring, when a young gander's fancy turns loudly to love...on my roof. The mating game of the Branta canadensis takes an inordinately long time considering the short seasons up here in the North Country. It's a prolonged and protracted affair that tries my patience and tests my higher than average wildlife-tolerance.

They seem to arrive in a bad mood and stay permanently pissed off. They especially don't like any paparazzi moves on my part. That bent neck is the signal to back off; it is always accompanied by loud honking and haranguing. Any stand-off ends with my surrender to their laser-like death stare.

Apparently the roof affords the perfect vantage point from which to practice goose courtship procedures. They don't mind that it looks unnatural for them to roost on the high-pitched roof.

Much squawking and flapping occurs all day as they exchange positions from the pond on one side and the channel on the other. As their numbers increase, the tactics and noise escalate to kamikaze-like raids at dawn, and high-speed landings that leave wakes in the water. This goes on for weeks.

Brazen and bold, they seem to dare anyone to approach their golden-fuzzy little goose children, who look adorable for about two weeks before going all gangly and teenager-y. Yet it's the parents that cop the attitude.

Better parents you won't find. Canada geese are all about family values. And this is when all my resentment melts away. They stand guard like sentinels watching over their young. Patient teachers, they ply the water and show them how to forage for food. They talk in quiet clucking tones, communicating constantly.

The brood begins with as many as ten or more, and then the cruel forces of nature in the form of coyotes and hawks, whittle away at the family unit. The mother will lead her crew across the yard from wetland to pond and back again, and as the days go by the little posse grows smaller.