I HATE KILLING GEESE

            I hate killing geese, but I kill lots of them.  In fact, given the opportunity, I would kill every goose on the planet, and smile.

I am a greenkeeper on a public golf course.  Each year, my employer spends hundreds of man-hours and thousands of dollars in an effort to control geese.  We reduce habitat areas.  We install chicken-wire ground covers (in theory, it makes it difficult to land).  We bring our dogs.  We install decoys of wolves and coyotes.  We spray repellents.  We use flashing lights.  We point lasers.  We throw stones. We yell…sometimes even curse.  We chase geese early in morning and late in the evening.  Although we win a few battles, the geese prevail.  They are more persistent and determined, and at times, I think, smarter.  As a result of our short-comings, we spend untold hours cleaning-up after the geese (the average goose ‘deposits’ about 1 pound per day).  Sometimes, the geese watch us clean.  Sometimes, I think I hear them laughing.

In 1918, the United States Government created the Migratory Bird Treaty Act.  Although the act has received some alterations, it remains relatively intact.  In essence, the act outlaws a variety of activities related to migratory birds, including Canada geese: “to pursue, hunt, take, capture, kill, attempt to take, attempt to kill, possess, offer for sale, sell, offer to purchase, purchase, deliver for shipment, ship, cause to be shipped, deliver for transportation, transport, cause to be transported, carry, or cause to be carried by any means whatever, receive for shipment, transportation or carriage, or export, at any time, or in any manner, any migratory bird”.  The Act includes referenced migratory birds…”or any part, nest, or egg of such bird.” (16 U.S.C. 703).

Thus, for the past 95 years, the Federal Government has provided extensive protection for Canada geese[1], including their eggs and nesting areas.  In most of the United States, the flourishing goose populations attests to the effectiveness of the act.

Unfortunately, in many areas, the act has prompted nuisance levels of geese, and perhaps, environmentally unstable and unhealthy populations.   In response, the United States Fish and Wildlife Service amended the Migratory Bird Act.  In its simplest form, Federal Regulation 46409 (August 20, 2007) allows the destruction of goose eggs and nesting areas.  Thus begins my story.

I work for a municipal golf course.  The locals call it the ‘muni’.  Like many other golf courses, we have a large and growing goose population.  In an effort to control populations, I began destroying eggs and nests a couple years ago.  Overall, my efforts have been relatively ineffective.  This year, however, I am determined to improve my effectiveness.

On my first ‘mission’ of the year, I prepare for a trip to a narrow isthmus between the third and fourteenth holes.  Early in the morning, I toss my gear into a work cart and open the large bay door of the shop.  The air is brisk.  It takes a couple minutes to arrive along the pond edge.  I retrieve my ‘tools’ (a 5-gallon bucket, a coffee can and a bottle of vegetable oil) and wade into the tall grass and cat-tails of the isthmus.  Within steps, I am soaked.

I continue plowing through the grass and hear the geese long before I see them.   Their ‘honking’ is impressively loud.   As I near their nest, their volume increases.  They courageously hold their ground.  Within fifteen feet, they begin hissing.  Even though I am familiar with the sound, the noise startles me.  I wish I had brought a shovel.  With a few more steps, both geese jump into the water.  The female keeps a safe distance (safe for me).  The male remains uncomfortably close and continues his cacophony.  I look into the nest and see several eggs.

I place the coffee can and vegetable oil near the nest and move towards the pond.  I scoop some water into the bucket and move back to the nest.  At the nest, I pour some water into the coffee can and reach for an egg.  Its warmth surprised me…almost hot.  I put the egg into the water.  It bobs to the surface and looks awkward with the thick end up.  I wait a second to see if it flips, but it remains.  I remove and pause to contemplate the meaning of the floating egg.

Last year, a Fish and Game officer came to the golf course to help with geese.  He provided written information and demonstrated proper addling techniques.  The training was simple.  Dropping a goose egg in water reveals the maturity of the embryo.  If the embryo is immature, covering the shell with oil will block pore spaces in the shell and prevent the embryo from developing (the oil restricted oxygen movement which is required for development).  If the embryo is mature, the egg contains enough oxygen to complete development.  At this stage, the egg must be destroyed to prevent hatching. Ideally, the egg is immature and placed back in the nest.  If the mother is convinced the egg  remain viable, she will not lay more eggs.  If the eggs are broken, or mother suspects ‘foul play’, she will abandon the eggs and lay more. Although I remember much of the training, I forget one crucial fact: do immature eggs float or sink?

I pause to think, then decide coat the first egg.  Although it requires a single coat, I apply two.  I place the egg back in the nest and select another.  As I do, the geese in the pond increase their vocal maelstrom, as if they understand the procedure.  As expected, the second egg floats.  I coat it with oil (two coats) and place it in the nest.  I pull a third egg and place it in the can.  It floats.  As I began coating it, my uncertainty resurfaces.  Do immature eggs float, or sink?  Within seconds, I realize the necessity of the situation.

I pull the coffee can closer and gently tap an egg on the rim.  To my surprise, the egg splits and a young gosling spills onto the ground, along with an unusual amount of ‘slime’.  I watch for a time, expecting it to move, but it does not. While I contemplate my options, I continue to watch the gosling. I make a decision and scoop it into the empty can.  I realize the remaining eggs will hatch.  I think of leaving them, but ponder the consequences: three eggs could lead to fifteen, and fifteen to forty-five, and forty-five to two hundred something).  I succumb to the numbers and toss the remaining eggs into the long grass.  I dump the gosling into the pond.

Within a couple minutes, I find a second nest.   As I walk closer to it, I am surprised to see the female quietly scrunched in the nest.  I am impressed with the degree of flatness she can obtain, especially while sitting on eggs.  As I move closer, she springs to her feet and gives a threatening hiss and flaps her wings.  Although her size and threat are impressive, she does not fool me (all bark and no bite).  Within a few more steps, she jumps into the water and swims beyond her partner.  Both geese continue their ‘honking’.

I keep an eye on the male and place my gear next to the nest.  At first glance, the nest appears empty.  I carefully remove some grass and feathers and find some eggs. I grab an egg and drop it into the coffee can.  It sinks.  I cover the egg with oil (two coats) and return it to the nest.  The downy feathers stick to the oily shell.  As I reach for another egg, I hear a shout, “Hey, what are you doing?”

“O’ great,” I mumble to myself and look to see a nearby resident approaching from her backyard.  I am not willing to converse across the pond, so I do not answer.  I stand and watch her cross a narrow fairway.  She wears a tailored, leather jacket.  Below the thigh-high end of the black jacket, a pink bathrobe hangs to her knees.  She has nothing on her legs and a pair of running shoes on her feet.  Her every steps seethes with anger.

She nears the end of the mowed grass and, without hesitation, trudges into the long grass and cat-tails.  As she pushes her way through the native area, I anticipate the pending confrontation.  Although I remain stationary, she finds a need to command, “Stop!”

She pushes through the remaining long grass and nears to within talking distance, “What are you doing?”  It sounds more like, ‘You better not be doing what I think you are doing!’

“My name is Johnny,” I introduce myself.  “I work at the golf course.  I have been directed by the city to help control the goose population.”  I really mean ‘reduce’, but opt for the more gentile ‘control’.

“What are you doing now?  What are doing with the nests?”she barks.

“I am not doing anything with the nest.”

“I watched you doing something.  I saw you with my own eyes.  Don’t lie to me.”  Although she is only slightly older than me, she reminds me of an old English teacher (Mrs. Long).

I understand the gist of her inquiry and answer, “I am covering the eggs with oil.” I emphasize ‘eggs’, and remain hesitant to provide more information.  I know her next question before she asks it.

“What does the oil do? Are you poisoning the baby geese?”

“The oil is 100 percent vegetable oil,” I point to the bottle on the ground.

“Is it toxic?”she angrily questions.

In the past, I have made the mistake of answering the ‘toxic question’. Unfortunately, few people want the full answer: If ‘toxic’ means the ability to cause death or serious debilitation, than ‘yes’, it is toxic. In this sense, virtually everything has toxic potential.  Even water can be toxic, especially if someone cannot swim, or someone is cramming it down your throat.  In this situation, I opt for a simpler and more sagacious response, “The vegetable oil is the same product you purchase in the grocery store.”

“What does the oil do?” she asks with a hint of trepidation.

I answer the question directly, “The oil stops the egg from developing.” Again, ‘egg’ seems much less inflammatory than embryo…I never considered using ‘baby goose’.

“Are you killing the geese?” her volume rises.

“It stops development,” I rephrase.

“Kills!” she shouts.

I have no meaningful response and remain silent.  Within seconds, she continues, “You are killing the chicks.”

I remain silent.  We stare at each other for a few seconds, then she continues, “The geese were here before you.”  Again, I remain silent.

“Does your boss know you are doing this?” she asks.

“As I stated earlier, I am doing this at the request of my managers.” I give her their names.

“You need to stop this…now!” she demands.

“This is not my decision.  You will need to speak with my managers,” I try to redirect her.

“This is illegal and you can’t do this,” she insists.

“Actually, I have met with the State Fish and Game Department.  They told me I could do this.  They even came to the property and showed me how to do it.”  I hear the prideful glee in my voice and despise it.

“Johnny,” she utters in a more calming and persuasive tone, “there are laws greater than ones government makes…natural laws.” She pauses to look at my eyes.  I am not sure if she is being condescending or making a genuine plea. “Please stop,” she persists.

I stare at her, half-waiting for her to tell me about these ‘natural laws’ and resent the idea of someone telling me about natural laws, especially someone who has probably never worked outside in her life, and someone who defines her outdoor experience as staying in a log cabin for the July 4^th weekend.  I do not respond to her observation about natural laws.

After a few seconds, she tries another approach, “If I agree to take the eggs, will you stop destroying them?

“Possibly,” I answer.

She waits a few seconds for me to say something, but I do not.  “Why ‘possibly’?” she asks with an inquisitive, and slightly angered, tone.

“What are you going to do with the eggs?” I ask.

“I will hatch them.”  She sees the ‘how-does-that-help-me’ look in my face, and amends her statement.  “I will find an organization willing to hatch them and release them into the wilderness…away from here. “

“I am not sure it is legal to take eggs and hatch them,” I counter. “ The Fish and Game may not allow it.”

“If I get approval from the State, will you stop?”

“Maybe.”

“Why ‘maybe’?” she groans, wary of my evasiveness.

“The city may not allow it.  They may not want to assume the liability associated with you coming on the property. ” I like the ‘liability clause’.  It is easy to understand and covers a wide variety of situations.  I use it a lot and I find it much more effective than, ‘Get off the property.’ Although, essentially, they are the same.

“This is public property.  I am a citizen and tax payer.  I have a right to be out here.”

“It is public property, but the city provides this facility for paying customers.  We welcome everyone to play here, but you must register at the pro shop.”

“This is owned by the citizens…tax payers,” she interrupts. “ You cannot stop me from coming on the property.”

“The city, and taxpayers, own many facilities in which they restrict admittance. The recreation centers, libraries, and swimming pools are all public properties, but citizens cannot use, or enter them at their will or leisure.  As a group, the citizens have decided to regulate these properties. On this particular property, admittance extends only to paying customers.”

I can tell she is frustrated and she blurts out, “You do not want to help, do you?  It seems like you want to kill these geese…maybe even enjoy it.”

I try to calm the situation and select my ‘good neighbor’ response. “Our neighbors and fellow citizens remain very important to us.  We consider them our guests and an integral aspect of our operation.  We strive to serve them and strengthen our relationship with them.”  I am not sure it fit the situation, but struggle for other words.

She opens her mouth to speak, but only stares at me.  The words seemed log-jammed in her throat, or maybe her head.  Finally, the dam breaks, “You are so full of it, it makes me sick. It is preposterous that you are using government money, my money, to kill geese. You are all immoral bastards and environmental terrorists!  I am going to call the proper authorities.  I will put an end to this. I will end this insanity.” At this, she quickly bends over and snatches the oil bottle from my feet.  As she turns and heads back through the long grass, she stops for one last remark, “Johnny,” she wants it to be personal, “is what you are doing making the earth a better place?”  She is not accepting replies and promptly stomps into the long grass and cat-tails.

I stand and watch her trudge through the grass.  Eventually, she exits and marches towards her back yard.  A man waits for her at a gate.  I assume it is her husband.

As I gather my gear and head for my cart, her statement reverberates in my head, “immoral bastards and environmental terrorist?”  It seems a little harsh.

A couple days after the incident, I am driving my golf cart down the side of the neighborhood road.  As usual, I am thinking about my remaining obligations.  A sudden noise startles me.  A ‘honking’ from a car horn seems about two feet from my head.  As the car drives past, I see my friendly neighborhood goose guardian.  Her husband gently eases her hand from the steering wheel and horn.  She falls back into the passenger seat and casually ‘tosses’ an obscene finger-gesture out a partially open window.

As I gather my emotions and watch the car drive away, I notice its bumper sticker, “Pro-Choice”.  I think about my friend and the ‘situation’ all the way back to the shop and for much thereafter.

Personally, I have nothing against geese.  In fact, they add value to the scenery and the overall outdoor experience.  In many regards, they are majestic and awesome creatures.  I find no pleasure or joy in killing them (maybe a little short-term pleasure).  In fact, it is difficult to admit I kill for convenience and economic savings.  I would prefer not to kill them, and I would not kill them if they did not make such a mess.  But, they do, thus, I do.

In regards to my ‘friend’, I search for understanding and resolution, but find none.   Although I struggle with a variety of wavering thought and emotion, and though I claim no omniscience or holy righteousness, one thing remains remarkably clear: ‘When a nation has more laws protecting unborn geese than unborn children, a people are destined for misery and destruction.”

[1] The Federal Government does allow state agencies to establish hunting seasons for Canada Geese.