MacKenzie

 About 5 years ago, I received a call from a stranger regarding an orphaned Canadian Goose gosling. He got my name from a friend of a friend who told him I would know what to do. I was immediately suspicious but also concerned. If there really was a baby goose needing help, I didn't want to ignore this. The gentleman went on to explain the little gosling was all alone in his pond and all the other geese had disappeared. He was concerned about something getting ahold of the baby. He went on to explain he had called a few rescues but none were available to help at the moment. What could I do but take his address and head over?

As I was on my way with a nesting box ready in the backseat of the truck, I called my daughter-in-law and gave her the man's phone and address info. I figured that way, the cops would at least be able to find where he buried me. But again, what else could I do if there really was an orphaned gosling waiting?

Sure enough, as I pulled into the man's driveway, out he came carrying the little ball of yellow and gray downy fluff. As I exited the truck, I could see his pond void of any Geese. We exchanged quick pleasantries as he handed me the baby, said his thanks and we parted ways. I was back in the truck with the baby inside my hoodie to make sure he was warm. I called Amy to let her know I wasn't dead and then headed home wondering how I was going to explain this to Bob. Honestly, I had promised no more chickens and technically this was not a chicken so I figured it would all work out. Also, Bob likes me so I tend to get away with murder when it comes to animals. Most days, anyway.

As soon as I pulled in the driveway to our farm, I could see the grandkids running around the barn waiting for me. I barely was out of the truck before they had our newest addition in their hands. There was quite a bit of oohing and ahhing along with kisses to his little head and black beak. I explained to the kids that he was a wild animal and we couldn't keep him. We had to protect him, feed and water him and let him get big enough to fly away with his other goose friends. I don't know that they heard a word I said truthfully, but at least I had tried.

We named him MacKenzie, Mac for short. It just seemed right with him being Canadian and us loving the McKenzie Brothers. Mac settled in with the chickens that night and in the morning we let everyone out to freerange the day away. Of course, with Mac being so small, we had to introduce him to the dogs and also keep an eye on him every minute because of hawks. He may have spent some time in the house with the kids but I am choosing to neither confirm nor deny. 

The weeks flew by, with the same routine day after day. Mac would sleep safely with the chickens at night and run free all day. We have a lot of Canadian Geese that fly over the farm so we kept hoping he would hear them and be interested in joining them. No such luck. By the time Mac was a year old, he had never flown higher than a few feet off the ground and that was only to chase after Bob or as I referred to him, Mac Daddy. That silly goose was now full grown and a part of the family. He loved us and followed us everywhere. He was completely free to go but he wasn't having it. There was simply too much food and attention here and he liked both.

Mac followed Nolan everywhere when he wasn't following Bob or me. He would walk behind Nolan making his goosey noises and Nolan would talk back to him making his baby noises. It was pretty sweet. 

We bought this little pool for the kids to play in. The piggies had their pool, the dogs had their pool, Mac had his pool. Everyone should have been happy, right? Wrong. As soon as the old well handle was turned on and the boys began to splash in their pool, Mac came running. No matter how hard we tried to keep him out, he was going to swim with his boys and he did. 

If there was a picnic happening on the back patio, Mac was going to find a way to be invited. 

And every night, as I was in the kitchen preparing dinner, this would happen. Mac would stand at the kitchen window and stare. If I ignored him, he would tap the window. Over and over and over again. This guy was spoiled rotten and would not be ignored.

Sometimes the kids would take their picnic further out from the house but eventually, Mac would figure out where they were and he'd invite himself to the fun and the food. He always seemed to love the kids.

If it was raining, all the animals would head inside the barns where they could stay warm and dry. Well, all the animals except Mac. He would sit outside the back door in the rain, hoping one of us would see him and let him inside or at the least, join him outside. 

By the end of the two years we had MacKenzie, he slept in the barn at night, shared food with the pigs, chickens, dogs and cats, followed the kids everywhere and was completely imprinted on Bob and I. We thought he might never leave at this point and we weren't sad to have him as a part of the family if he chose to stay. But, as life would have it, Mac reached sexual maturity and felt the need to protect Bob and I from all possible interlopers. Sadly, since Nolan was the closest to the ground, he became the target and was attacked several times for getting to close to me. The second time it happened, we knew it was time for Mackie the Goose to find a goose family of his own.

The day I found B.E.A.K.S., a local wild bird rescue, was bittersweet. We let Mac go around to say his goodbyes and get his special treat handouts and then we loaded him into his crate in the backseat of the truck. It was just the kids and I taking him to his new home and we all cried the entire thirty minute drive. Once we reached our destination, the intake worker met us at the gate to take Mac to his new home. The kids and I were all able to give him hugs and kisses and say our last goodbyes. It was really heartbreaking but also the best thing for Mac.

Here we are a few years later and I still can hardly believe we had a Canadian Goose that loved us. How lucky are we?