Once I lived in a small, but comfortable house with my wife, and we had a lovely creek that ran the length of the yard. At least we thought the creek was lovely when we first laid eyes upon it. The creek was only ten or twelve inches wide then, and it made all of the appropriate sounds for a small creek, and we fell in love with it. That is, until the first flood when that little pastoral beauty expanded to fifty roaring, savage feet across and pirated away several six-foot potted plants, some lawn furniture, and one of our favorite neighbors ...But this is not that story.
This story is slower, more deliberate, and doesn't involve the loss of any neighbors - just my sense of superiority. This story involves only me and a small family of Canada geese. One beautiful day, I was standing in my backyard looking generally at the point where the creek entered our yard from the wetlands behind us. I noticed some movement in the bushes. Upon closer examination, I descried a group of Canada geese. There were two adults and perhaps four or five babies. Definitely babies, not yet goslings.
From their movements, it became clear to me that they were on their way downstream to a large pond two hundred or so yards hence. I was delighted! I would just stand there and watch them convoy past. One adult was in the front of the line, one at the rear, and the babies were one after the other in single file. I stood quite still, about twenty-five feet distant, and waited for the parade.
But nothing happened! They were just milling about. I soon realized that I was the problem. They could see me clearly, and, despite how nonthreatening I felt, the adults perceived my presence with studied alarm. I apologized out loud to these very welcome passers-through, and I backed up several feet to conceal myself partially behind a large tree. Surely, this would make all of them feel safe enough to continue their passage.
I was now far enough back that I could not see the geese over the edge of the creek, but I was not concerned. I would still enjoy the show because the long necks of the adults would remain within my view. Just then, I noticed one of the two adults emerge rather clumsily on the far side of the creek. This adult proceeded to waddle up the short creek bank until it reached level ground. Then it proceeded to move slowly and dramatically in the original direction adopted by the goose convoy.
As you can imagine, I found this to be strange behavior indeed. For that reason, I continued to watch this awkward adult move up the creek for thirty-five or forty feet. During this period of observation, I concluded again that I would be able to watch the maritime parade because I would be alerted by the movement of the other adult's long neck and head above the level of the creek bank.
When the waddler on dry land had gone the distance, capturing my attention the entire time, it turned back towards the creek and disappeared below the level of the bank. I hurried from my place of concealment in order to witness the re-entry of the waddler and determine the status of the remainder of the convoy. I came close enough to see the water and the drama unfolding in the creek.
To my astonishment, the waddler was entering the creek bed to re-join the other adult and all of the babies who were already there! The others had moved stealthily through the water without attracting my attention while I was preoccupied with the waddling adult. However, I had been paying attention with my peripheral vision to the bank of the creek. If the convoy had moved through under normal conditions, I would have noticed the long neck of the second adult.
I could conclude only that the awkward stepper on the bank was a deliberate diversion, and the plan during my distraction was for the other adult, with head and neck down, to move the babies carefully along the creek and out of harm's way (harm being me). No one will ever convince me that this was not a deliberate danger-avoidance strategy conceptualized and implemented very successfully by two Canada geese.
When I realized what had transpired, I laughed out loud at my gullibility and congratulated them for a job well done. As I walked away smiling, I mused that hubris, indeed, was an innate element of the human condition, including mine, and that it was not always possible to be as smart as a goose.
