Out On the Wing #89: Speckles, Snow, and the Death of a Goose

I've had a whirl of a day. Despite having a cold that started after minicamp this past week, I whisked myself off in pursuit of a Greater White-fronted Goose (Anser albifrons) that had been spotted recently among throngs of Canada Geese (Branta canadensis) at Peace Valley Park in Doylestown, PA. Reports of Lesser Black-backed Gulls (Larus fuscus) and a Red-headed Woodpecker (Melanerpes erythrocephalus) were nice treats to look for as well.

As I arrived, I looked to my right and surveyed the mass of geese. I knew, or at least suspected, that it was somewhere in that group. So I set off down the path noting the calls of chickadees and sparrows as I went, while a vociferous Northern Mockingbird (Mimus polyglottos) sang a garbled remix of wren and sparrow song that made its way through the briars and broken trees near the water's edge. I walked onto a dock that from the looks of it floated in the summer, but due to the drop in water level, was now resting on the reservoir's bottom. I looked out into the sea of geese. The black-stockinged necks of several hundred geese bobbed on brown and white bodies ahead of me.

The sun's glare (which makes it seem like quite a passive-aggressive action from an indifferent celestial object) was causing me a bit of a problem. I knew the birds I was looking at were geese, but silhouettes weren't going to help me here. Instead, I adopted a plan of walking past a group of geese and then looking back to see if I could pick the specklebelly (a hunter's name for white-fronted geese) out of the crowd. This reminded me of my search for the Pink-footed Goose (Anser brachyrynchos) earlier in the year with the main exception being that this was much bigger water and with way more geese. Estimates on eBird put numbers upwards of 500 or so. It was a delightful time to search for a differently marked, yet similarly sized waterfowl. As I continued up the beach I saw a flurry of wings. Like speckles of snow, some Snow Buntings (Plectrophenax nivalis) popped into view and landed on a flat rock about 10 feet in front of me. They seemed unperturbed as I clicked away with my camera.

What had actually attracted my attention was further down the beach. (If you are bothered by images of injured and/or dead wildlife, don't go any further.)

An injured Canada Goose rested in the water near shore. My first reaction was of pity, but an understanding that this bird was unlikely to survive. It was panting heavily and both wings were drooping. It looked to be suffering from exhaustion or shock or both. It seemed unafraid of me perhaps thinking my hasty approach was an effort to finish it off. I continued watching it. I found myself unable to leave. "It needs help", I thought to myself.

I got out my phone and looked up nearby animal rehabilitation facilities. I couldn't find any close by and thought about what to do. I decided to call my house mate to see what he thought would be the best option. While he was surprised that I was calling about a goose (not the one I'd set out to find though), he weighed the options with me. "Do you have any way to transport it? Like a box or something?" he asked.

"No." I replied. "I feel like I should leave it to its fate, but I feel obligated to help it somehow."

"Hmmm.", he replied. "Well, you could ring its neck or something."

I looked around. We (the goose and I) were in a public park with joggers, dog walkers, and regular Pennsylvanians walking by and I knew that the image of a birder strangling a goose wasn't going to leave the best impression on the surrounding community. After all, we'd made non-birders suffer through the heavily Hollywood-influenced "Big Year". Therefore, my putting a goose out of its misery in full view of the public, while an empathetic cause, wouldn't be the best course of action.

I looked back at the goose. It had now dragged itself up onto the shore with its limp wings and neck for support. It lay on the shore for quite a while now. Resting on the ground, its body gave one final kicking shudder before lying still. I watched all this with awe. I wasn't scared or saddened (yet...), just amazed. I wondered what its last impressions of this world were as it passed into black. I wondered if it even took note of my presence as I watched it struggle to shore. Every fiber of its being seemed to be concentrating on getting to the shore and when it did, it could finally rest.

I wrapped up my phone call with my house mate. After pocketing the phone, I looked back at the still goose. Tears welled in my eyes. How sad. How very sad indeed. I'd seen injured birds before with wings bent out of proportion and skewed in ways that didn't seem natural. But this bird seemed hopeless and lost and exhausted. Away from its flock mates, it breathed its last and gave in to the harsh reality of migration. Many birds simply do not make it. Cold science confirms it, but it does poorly to dull the sting having just witnessed the bird expire.

I looked up at the path. I hadn't been paying any attention to the people nearby and what they thought of my standing near the goose. For the most part, there was no one in sight, but personally I don't think the people walking by even noticed this goose. They hadn't noticed its drooping wings or panting. Hadn't noticed it collapse on the shore with exasperated finality. Hadn't noticed it kick violently skyward once more before expiring. The ambivalence the general public shows towards the natural world is astounding sometimes, but really when you think about it, the options for this goose were limited to begin with. Shock had already ravaged the bird and its end was all but nigh.

As I walked on further to continue my search for the specklebelly, I thought of the little goose. Had it suffered long before I'd found it? Was it missing its family? Even if it did get rehabbed, would it be healthy afterwards?

Geese seemed to be the attraction of the day as eBird reports had also mentioned an injured Snow Goose (Chen caerulescens) and a wayward Brant (Branta bernicla) being spotted along the banks of the reservoir within the last week. I snapped some pictures of them as they fed on the bank. The feral geese that were with them eyed me with suspicion, but the Brant and Snow Goose paid no attention to me. Nearby a flock of Lesser Black-backed Gulls preened while the misplaced geese fed in the shallows.

I headed back. As I did, I snapped some more pictures of the throngs of geese that had so far thwarted my effort to locate the specklebelly. Their numbers seemed endless. I can see why the market hunters thought we'd never run out of them. Nowadays, they have the protection of public spaces and resources which they foul and utilize with impunity. My path back led me to the shore and as I searched for the body of the little goose. I wanted to say goodbye. I walked a bit faster. I was slightly worried that someone might have been disgusted by the sight of a dead goose on the shore and gone and chucked it into the woods. It was still there, in its final resting place.

Placing a hand onto its back, I felt the heat of its body still present. I looked into its eye, now grey and pale, with death's veil upon it.

It was so small compared to the other geese. I only hope that when it did pass, it was happy to be done with its toil. I headed back to the car. It was hard to believe this all took place in a two hour period, but I supposed that stranger and sadder things had happened on planet Earth before.