The Gosling

A little less than two weeks ago, Elijah and I were out for a walk, and when we came around the bend toward our house, we saw the goose family of Ink Pond walking slowly up the hill- all but one. On closer inspection, one of the babies seemed to be thinking about taking a nap on the street. As we approached, she started to get up and fell onto her back, wings flopping, feet struggling in the air.

We ran toward her, and watched as she righted herself, struggled up the hill and laid down once more at the top. Her family seemed satisfied that she was with them and started foraging. Elijah and I stayed to watch.

She seemed wrong on one side- when she had gone up the hill, one foot wasn't working properly, and she was relying heavily on her wings- pushing herself along.

For a few minutes she rested, and then, as her family walked toward the pond and began getting in, she got up and followed them- still limping. But as she got in the water, she seemed much better- to the point that we couldn't tell which one she was as they swam away.

The next morning, Elijah and Matt walked up to the pond to check and found her upside down in the lake, struggling to keep her head above the water. Elijah jumped in and swam to her- and then he brought her home.

What followed was a fruitless attempt on my part to contact a wildlife rehabber in the area. There were several numbers listed on the DNR website- but no one called me back, except one woman over an hour away, and she wasn't keen, apparently. After the first call, and the promise to be my backup person- she stopped returning my calls as well.

I've never taken care of a goose before. I researched possible injuries, poisonings, diseases- and nothing seemed to fit. But she got better- slowly. She stopped flopping onto her side in the box. She sat upright. She started eagerly awaiting her food each day. She even honked softly at the dog when he got too close, followed by a hiss for good measure.

As her appetite returned and her sense of balance- her legs stopped working. She stopped pushing against the floor, stopped paddling when we'd put her in the rubbermaid box, filled with water in the garden. She just balanced, or pushed herself with her wings. Sometimes she would try her wings out. She fussed with her pin feathers and acted stronger every day. Until yesterday.

Yesterday, she was still hungry, but her voice was softer. I noticed a change in her breathing. It took me back to 1998 when my little Fiona cat died after a traumatic surgery- she'd been kept under anesthesia far too long, and her heart enlarged and eventually failed. I worried that this was happening to our little gosling.

Such is the life of a wildlife rehabber, albeit a reluctant one. I breathed and said a prayer for her every night, knowing that she might not be around in the morning.  But there she was. Wanting her breakfast.

This morning began like any other. I brought her box into the laundry room and cleaned it and her up. I gave her water and a new supply of food- and she ate right away. Because of the flies outside, I have kept her in the back bathroom, where it is generally quiet during the day, and this morning, I returned her there to enjoy her food. I checked on her around ten, and she had finished about half of her water and breakfast, and was fussing with a pin feather on her wing. I pet her and noted her breathing hadn't improved. She was a little gaspy. She looked at me and nuzzled the palm of my hand with her bill as she had begun to do this week.

And at eleven she was gone. There was no sign of struggle- she had gone to sleep, tucked her head behind her wing, and died.

The boys and I dug a grave near the flowers in the garden. I don't even know if this is legal or not- and frankly, I don't care at the moment. The powers that be aren't so interested in doing their job, anyway.

After years of dealing with animal-friend death, I have become pretty good at dealing with it. I prepare myself in advance. I know that most animals aren't going to outlive us, and some of them are going to die in our care. But Elijah. Elijah is still working on balancing his sense of compassion with a knowledge that things don't always work out- no matter how hard we try. Life isn't fair, and it isn't guaranteed, and sometimes we don't get the help we need.

But we do our best- and I think, I always think that animals know when we're trying to help them. For our gosling, better she die peacefully than struggling upside down in a pond all alone.

I watched my 13 year old son today, digging a grave, burying a little friend he had jumped in a pond to rescue, and placing flowers above her to honor her life-and I realized that this burden had been a blessing. These are life's teaching moments, and they define who we are and who we become.

Prayer for the Animals by Albert Schweitzer

Hear our humble prayer, O God, for our friends, the animals. Especially for animals who are suffering; for any that are hunted or lost or deserted or frightened or hungry; for all that must be put to death. We entreat for them all Thy mercy and pity, and for those who deal with them, we ask a a heart of compassion and gentle hands and kindly words. Make us, ourselves, to be true friends to animals, and so to share the blessings of the merciful.