West Side Geese

As all of my faithful readers already know, the Simmons residence campus is being homesteaded by a flock of geese, drawn to our serene environment and plentiful crumbs. Mostly they want the food the undergrads keep dropping as they walk out of the cafeteria. Who could blame them?

Campus geese are a hardy breed of bird. They lived in the park before they came our way and learned not to worry too much about heavy traffic speeding by, so groups of college-age girls hardly register on their danger radar. (The border collie the school brought in is capable of clearing them out for the course of one day, but they came back even stronger than before.) They also prefer the sidewalks to walking cross-country on the frozen grass and shrinking piles of snow. Often, I'll see lines of them strutting down the sidewalk (or the road!) in single file lines, straight out of Make Way For Ducklings.

The fearlessness of these creatures is evident in the way they simply ignore students rushing past them on the way to class or the dining hall. I passed within arm's length of several geese just this morning, and none of them ever stopped pecking the ground to give me even a momentary glance. It gives me the urge to poke them. Actually, to be more precise, it gives me the urge to pet them. Their feathers look so soft, that I really want to pick one up. That, of course, would not end well for either myself or the goose. Still, it crosses my mind. And I'm not the only one. My neighbor Dave told me that he saw a goose "trapped" behind the campus wrought-iron fence the other day. The poor creature was poking its head between every bar in the fence, looking for a space it could fit through. Dave wanted to pick the bird up and chuck it over the fence to join its friends and save it the trouble of working its way down to a real opening in the fence.

After lunch today I learned a new fact about city geese--they are highly territorial. Our resident gaggle of geese had reinstalled itself on the quad after being chased off last Friday and were enjoying their lunch in peace when a pair of intruders came in for a landing. The new arrivals glided in and settled down on the sidewalk. Unfortunately, they came down a bit farther apart than intended, and the larger of the two had to run back to his companion. And I mean run. Have you ever seen a goose run? It's a sight to see. You know how a squirrel's tail flows when it runs, and the tip never seems to move? Well, that's what the goose's head was doing. The neck was flowing as the body bobbed, which allowed the head to remain still as the large bird skedaddled over to its friend.

Well, the geese already on the quad didn't like this at all. Their leader, who was actually noticeably smaller than the new arrival, came at them making a sound halfway between the traditional honk and the hiss of an enraged swan. His run was not as bouncing, and clearly intended to intimidate. He ran with his head down and his beak open bellowing his war cry. His neck flowed, and his head did bob, but it didn't look silly; instead, it was the vicious flowing movement of a sea serpent.

The newcomers backed off, but didn't leave. The leader of the Sharks (that is the Simmons mascot, after all) turned to his flock and honked for their attention before charging again. The turf war was intensifying, and the rumble between the Sharks and the Jets was on.

The Sharks began another slow charge, all of them mimicking the call and posture of their leader. Let me tell you, it was quite a sight to see all of them moving in tandem, driving back the interlopers. Little by little they were pushed back, and most likely left the campus shortly thereafter. I couldn't stay to watch, being on my way to work. Who knows, they may have broken into a big musical number, punctuated with honks and pecks.

Whatever the result of this particular incident, it is clear to me that our geese have claimed our quad and intend to stay, no matter what other flocks, dogs or students get in their way.

-Kim