The days are so truncated right now. I try to make use of all the daylight hours doing farm chores and it seems that 5 p.m. rolls around awfully quickly. That is the time just before it is pitch dark. I must go down and get the geese tucked in while there is still a little light.
The old grey goose has gone mostly blind. She walks into things and has a hard time finding the entrance to her side of the goose house. She shares it with Baby Huey, son of M. Honky Embden, who does not tolerate geese other than his old Wifey in his private apartment.
B. Huey Embden acts as her seeing-eye gander, leading her with sounds. She navigates by sound. I don't know exactly how old she is. I bought her here from an acquaintance about ten years ago.
We've had Honky et al. for at least twenty years. Embden geese can live past thirty. I can still remember Baby Huey's blue eye scoping me out from the incubator even before he fully emerged from his eggshell. He was alert and intelligent even then. I'm guessing he imprinted on me.
He and his brother especially enjoyed untying shoelaces on people's shoes when they were little. They've lived a pretty natural goose life on our ponds and exhibit the charming testiness that I admire in geese. Huey greets me each morning with enthusiasm when I open his door and escorts the old grey goose to the pond. He then insists on walking me to the gate of the pond yard as I go on to whatever my day will entail.