Written by Colleen Houck
Love is the greatest gift
That one generation
Can leave another
Richard Garnett
Dedication
For my geese
The beats of your wings
Lift my soul
When Papa Goose was born, he wasn’t a papa, or a grandpapa, or even technically a goose.
A goose is female, you see.
Papa was simply a gosling, destined to be a gander.
Still, there was nothing simple about Papa.
He was special.
He wasn’t aware of his uniqueness immediately, of course.
It took him a few days to figure it out.
The first indication came when he and his siblings all edged away from beneath the warm feathers of their mother and wobbled on shaky legs out of the safety of the nest.
The big gosling flapped his small wings and stretched out his thin neck, calling to his much taller father, offering to help guard his brothers and sisters as they dipped their bills into the clear water for a drink.
His father lowered his head, acknowledging his young gosling’s determination to help and let him stand watch until all the birds were finished. Finally, when all were refreshed, the big gosling drank and tore into his breakfast.
Later, when the gosherd came to check on their family, he was delighted to see the geese had hatched.
The big gosling’s father hissed and ruffled his feathers, determined to keep the farmer away from his mate and offspring.
Copying his much larger father, the gosling opened his bill, curled his tongue, and hissed loudly as well, but that didn’t stop the man from sorting through the goslings, picking them up one by one and inspecting them, taking careful notes before placing them back down.
Not even the gosling’s parents’ vicious nipping on the man’s boots and backside could deter him from his work.
Finally, the gosherd turned his attention to the big gosling.
“Now, now, little one. Let me take a look at you.”
First, the farmer turned the big gosling upside down and inspected its feet.
“Very nice,” he said. “Pete!” the man called out. “Take a look at this one. I think it might be a giant.”
“We got one? Are you sure?” the other man cried as he ran into the barn.
“I believe it is. And it’s a gander!”
Both men bent over the gosling and began poking and prodding him with thick fingers. “You’re right,” the second man agreed. “We’ve got a waiting list a mile long, you know. Only one female giant gosling left this season.”
“Then sell the pair of them, and that’s it for this year,” the gosherd instructed. “We’ll try our luck again next year.”
“Understood.”
That was the last time the big gosling ever saw his birth family. As the men scrambled to find containers, the gosling’s parents looked at him with a sad expression and touched their bills briefly to the top of his head. Both of them clucked at him mournfully.
He didn’t understand what was happening. Had he done something wrong? Were they disappointed about what the farmer said? The man had seemed happy. He wondered if perhaps he should have bitten the men’s fingers.
Soon, the giant gosling began to grasp what “being special” truly meant. Special meant being ripped away from your family.
He was taken from his warm nest and boxed up with a frightened young goose and two Blue American geese, along with an assortment of ducks.
The smell of fear permeated the small confines of the box, and the echoes of the ducks’ chaotic quacking rang in his ears.
The giant gosling knew someone needed to take charge and help calm the little discordant flock.
Stretching out his neck, he passed his bill across the back of the Giant Embden goose, lightly stroking her feathers. She immediately calmed herself and sat on her feet. So did the other two geese.
The ducks were not as easy to subdue. It took a quick nip on the wing of the nearest drake for the ducks to settle down, and even then, a nervous female started up the ruckus again at every new noise and jostle, especially when they were put into a moving vehicle.
By the time they arrived at their new home, the giant gosling gander was exhausted from trying to keep everyone and everything under control. He proved as much by hissing at each new sound and positioning his body to protect the others, the female geese in particular.
Soon enough, the new flock settled into a routine, and although their home was very different and distant from the one they knew, it was well-provisioned and quite beautiful with two large ponds, lovely tall trees, and a variety of flowers.
Their new gosherds were friendly and kind and fed them the most delicious corn nuggets every evening at dusk.
A year passed, and the young flock grew up.
While the young gosling grew up.
And up.
And UP!
Just as everyone expected…
He became a giant.
A very rare and a very special, giant Embden, in fact.
But he didn’t just have a giant chest.
And giant feet.
And a long, giant neck.
He also had a giant…heart.
The young gander also became…a papa and was named Papa.
Which was only fitting.
He loved his mate, Mama.
He loved the Blues, Charming, and Beauty.
He loved the gosherds, Eric and Ann.
He loved the ducks, Q-Tip, Winnie, Skipper, Milagro, Donald, and Mary.
He even learned to love the sound of the wild ducks and geese when they arrived during the fall and winter months and tolerated sharing their resources.
The others protested, but for him, it meant he didn’t have to be on guard as much. The other ganders standing watch meant his family was a little safer, and Papa got a much-needed break.
Besides, he knew his family was fluffy and fat. They never went hungry or had to look far and wide for food, unlike the wild birds.
Papa Goose counted himself lucky.
Especially…
The next spring.
When his little flock grew.
They added Rosie and Snow and Leo and Rachel and Errol and Dean and Ferris and a passel of ducks. So many that he couldn’t even remember all their names.
Then someone came and took away Rachel, Errol, Dean, and Ferris.
That was the same year Papa and Charming fought off a weasel.
The next season, raccoons discovered the nests and made off with all the eggs before Papa could stop them.
The year after that, Papa fought off a bobcat.
Papa Goose was powerful and fierce enough to send it packing, but it frightened the females so badly that they decided not to nest that year.
During the fourth season, the bobcat returned.
Papa was having a nice swim while Mama was sleeping on the bank of the pond. He thought the bobcat had learned his lesson, but he had been mistaken, and that mistake proved deadly.
Mama was taken before Papa could even get out of the water.
That was when Papa realized his sharpness and speed were diminishing.
He gave chase, screaming and flapping his giant wings so hard it felt like the trees around him rocked with his power.
But the bobcat escaped, leaving only a few beautiful white feathers behind to show signs of his trail.
Papa mourned.
He sat on his feet and groaned. How could he have failed his family?
Wasn’t he a giant?
Wasn’t he special anymore?
He stretched his long neck to the sky. He still felt strong.
Soon, he no longer had time to mourn.
The gosherds brought him six little white goslings to raise.
They weren’t giants or his own, but they needed a papa.
It wasn’t long before he started feeling like himself again…like Papa.
Then another season passed.
And another.
He took a new mate.
Things were going well until…
A cougar attacked.
Papa and Charming fought.
And fought.
And lived.
And managed to protect the flock.
But Papa was hurt.
All the birds were rounded up and put into a moving vehicle again.
They were taken to a new place.
Papa could barely walk.
He had a hole in his neck and his back was twisted.
But he saw Ferris and Rachel and Errol and Dean.
They had all grown up.
They were young and strong.
He was oh so very proud of them.
Errol was as big as Papa, but he was half Blue and half Giant Embden.
Papa slowly healed.
Six months later…his flock went home.
They had a new barn.
Another season passed.
And another.
Papa’s feet hurt.
He began limping.
His eyesight became blurry.
Though he listened carefully, the sounds around him were dull and far off.
The gosherds left and his family was no longer as fat and fluffy as they once were.
One day, Papa noticed a duck was missing.
Then another, and another.
Try as he might, Papa could no longer tell who or what was threatening his family.
Then the sickness came.
First, Charming wandered off into the forest and was gone.
Then, Beauty left.
Rosie was gone next.
Then there were only three. Papa, Snow, and Meme.
Papa and Meme, his new mate, became sick.
They were much older than Snow.
One afternoon, when Papa and Meme were on the bank, Papa Goose was standing guard, and Snow was bathing.
He dozed, only for an instant, heard a scream, and Meme was gone.
Papa spun in useless circles.
He saw feathers everywhere, but despite his great desire to fight, there was nothing around to wage battle against.
Snow swam out to the middle of the pond, trembling, and though Papa Goose raced up and down the bank, searching for Meme. There was no sign of her.
Papa swam out to Snow in the center of the pond and mourned.
He cried at the loss of his family.
The loss of his friends.
The loss of his youth and his strength.
He knew the truth.
He had never been anything special.
He was never a giant in any way.
In fact, he had diminished in every way.
He had become small. Insignificant.
What use was he now?
He wished he had been the one taken.
The water around him felt as cold as the tears that leaked from his blue rheumy eyes.
Papa Goose’s great big heart now felt as empty and as hollow and as dead as his old nest near the corner of the house.
He cried for three days.
Then, someone called out to him.
It was the woman who cared for him after the cougar attack.
He and Snow swam over to investigate.
She took them to her home and put them in her barn.
Papa and Snow were happy to see a very large flock of ducks and geese and to meet up with Errol, and Dean, and Rachel, and Ferris again.
But Errol was now the powerful head gander.
Papa was old.
The others drove him away from the first pickings of the day.
They laughed if he tried to scare off a predator.
The only thing he could intimidate these days was a crow, and that was only if he could see them. Most of the time, he tried not to trip over rocks.
Papa Goose grew more depressed and stopped leaving the barn in the morning, even when the younger Snow tried desperately to draw him out.
Then, one day, his new gosherd brought him three little sons to raise.
Each one was different. Each was alone. The last successful hatches of the season.
One was a little white Chinese gander, named Elmer, one was a beautiful big drake with a ring around his neck, named Daffy, and the last, his own grandson, a giant Embden, named Wheezer.
Papa and Snow looked at the three hopeful little faces and felt the young birds burrowing into their feathers, and for the first time in a very long time, papa goose felt like a Papa again.
He knew he couldn’t offer them the protection that he once offered his young family, and he couldn’t make sure they were first in line to eat.
His legs didn’t work like they used to, nor did his eyes and his ears.
Papa knew he was especially clingy and overly careful, honking fearfully anytime Daffy wanted to head off to play with other ducks, and he relied on the sharp eyes and ears of his young gander sons to look for trouble and to help protect their mama, Snow.
He was slow to move, quick to fall asleep, and also keenly aware he wasn’t even technically their father.
Watching those young hatchlings grow, their young faces full of trust and acceptance, made Papa understand that of all the giant things he thought had made him special, it wasn’t his legs, his wings, his neck, or his chest that were the most important.
No.
The most important giant thing Papa could offer and the thing that would work no matter if everything else didn’t, was Papa’s giant heart.
So…Papa Goose loved his three little sons.
And they loved their Papa back.
And that made all the difference.
Houck Hollow 