Poorly Gosling

Those of you who have been following my blog for some time might be aware that I've become rather fond of geese! My first introduction to the geese at Newhouse Farm wasn't too pleasant: a few weeks after I moved to the farm the gander (male goose) cornered me behind a wheelbarrow and took a nasty nip at my thigh. But since then I've incubated, hatched and raised a gaggle of 7 goslings, and thanks to this experience they've become one of my favourite types of animal. They're curious, comical and clumsy, and their antics have kept me perpetually entertained. Even though they are now fully grown I still can't help but refer to them as 'the goslings', rather like a parent who still refers to their adult children as 'the kids'.

The goslings live on a large grassy slope next to the farmhouse, and sleep in a wooden hut that we've called 'The Hollies'. Because of their close proximity to the farmhouse we're around them every day, and consequently the goslings are very used to people. Whenever I pass by their enclosure I'll stop to say a quick hello (which in gosling language sounds like a series of high pitched cheeps!) and they'll run over to meet me and cackle and cheep back. It never fails to make me giggle when I see the goslings running around excitedly, wings outstretched and honking loudly, until one of them trips over its own feet or stumbles over the food bowl. Also whenever I'm working in the medicinal garden or geodesic dome, which is adjacent to their enclosure, I can guarantee that the goslings won't be able to resist sneaking up behind me trying to get a look at what I'm doing.

But as adorable as they can be, I have to keep reminding myself that these animals are not pets, they are in fact destined for the plate. Now that the goslings are fully grown they're ready to be eaten, and it won't be long before Dick and James decide that they'd like to have goose for their dinner. In fact 2 of the goslings were meant to have been killed for the Fijians' visit on my birthday, but luckily for the goslings (and for me) James and Dick were so busy they didn't get around to organising it. I've got to admit that I was more than happy that all the goslings survived the celebrations at the farm, as I didn't really like the idea of having geese killed on my birthday! But even so, it's a reality of farm life I've got to keep myself stoical about.

However despite having survived the Fijians' visit, life for one of the goslings was still hanging in the balance. I began to notice that one of them wasn't as active as usual, preferring to lag behind whilst the other goslings charged excitedly around their enclosure. Then one day in early July I realised that this gosling actually seemed to be ill: her eyes were dull and only half open, she wasn't eating and had lost some weight, her walk had become slow and awkward, she didn't seem to have the energy to hold her neck upright, and her wings weren't folded neatly on her back but instead drooped a bit by her sides. I called Dick over to have a look at her, and he agreed that she didn't look too good. I picked her up and sat her on my knee so that Dick could give her a thorough examination. He checked her legs and wings, feld around her neck and spine, and opened up her mouth to see if she had any obstructions in her throat. It was possible that she might have injured a limb, or eaten something that was bad for her. But all appeared to be fine, so we gave her a few drops of Bach's Rescue Remedy for good luck, and the mystery of her illness continued.

After spending an hour Googling goose illnesses and getting nowhere, I decided to send a cry for help email to Paul the pig breeder. Paul was the son of the lady who we bought the pigs from in June, and I recollected that he was an expert on poultry as he bred speciality chickens and bantams. Out of all the contacts in my inbox, Paul was the only person I thought might have an inkling of how to treat a poorly goose. After all, most of my other contacts were my friends from London who would be hard pressed to offer up goose related advice! Paul suggested that I try to get the poorly gosling to eat some porridge spiced with extra vitamins. It was worth a shot. "Hmmph" I thought, as I stirred a pan of porridge in the kitchen, "I never thought I'd find myself cooking for a goose!"

I took the porridge out to the goslings' enclosure and called them over whilst I spooned it into their feeder. It smelt ok, it even tasted ok, but the goslings weren't convinced. After coming closer to inspect the strange globby stuff I'd brought for them, they backed away from it as if they were scared it would bite them. Surely my cooking wasn't that bad?! But as the day drew on I noticed that beak marks began to appear in the, now cold, porridge, and by the following afternoon it had disappeared. But still the poorly gosling seemed to be no better. She was hanging in there, but how much longer she'd be able to battle off her illness was uncertain.

The latest news on the gosling is she's still alive. She certainly isn't out of the woods yet, but her appetite seems to have returned a little as I've seen her tentatively eating some corn. She's still underweight and disinterested in running around with the others, but I'm sure she looks a little better than she did before... or maybe that's just wishful thinking on my part. I'm not sure what else we can do for her apart from making sure she has plenty of fresh water, food and dry bedding. I'll keep you posted on her progress, but in the meantime if any of you have any experience or tips of how to deal with poorly geese it'd be great to hear from you. Fingers crossed she'll pull through.

PS Thanks to our Wwoofer Elaine for the picture of me nursing the goose. Elaine and her brother Ian came to volunteer at the farm for a week, and whilst they were here Elaine created some amusing videos of the goslings, amongst other activities they got up to at the farm. If you'd like to see the goslings in action, check out the link here.