A Narrative

I have something to relate of a foul nature, although along with the foul, I must admit that there is an equal amount of the humorous. I shall start from the beginning. For the past several years, my family has been graced by the presence of one Branta Canadienses - a Canada Goose, dubbed "Buddikins Dimitri," but fondly referred to as "Buddy." It is a tricky business determining the sex of a Canada Goose. The adults of both genders in my experience are indistinguishable from eachother in their general appearance and mannerisms. Therefore, it came to pass that we randomly referred to Buddy as a male goose rather than a female. This assumption seemed to fit for a time, up until one month ago. During that insightful time, I was called to the front porch to see something that Buddy was doing. I walked onto the front porch and found my family congregated about the railing just to the right of the stairs, all looking down into the flower bed. I made my way over to them, looked down, and what to my wondering eyes should appear but Buddy - making a nest. This implanted a very convincing doubt about our assumption of Buddy's sex, which was later confirmed by the presence of five largish eggs layed by Buddy. We could not deny it any longer: Buddy was a girl! Well, another pair of Canada Geese had decided to domicile at our pond, and I thought that given Buddy's single state, should her eggs turn out to hatch, it would be evidence to show that not all monogamous relationships are strictly "monogamous." As a belated attempt to make a long story short, I will simpy say that the other two geese decided to nest in the woods somewhere, and Buddy became a fierce mother, guarding her eggs against all creatures; humans included. And then something strange happened: Buddy's eggs started disappearing. One-by-one, the eggs were just gone. My sister soon discovered the culprit: my own sweet but devious pooch, Scrappy. Well, we decided to let nature take its course after reprimanding Scrappy with several sharp slaps to her nasal area, but yet it came to be that Buddy had only one egg remaining. And now comes the meat of my anecdote. Yesterday morning I was told that Buddy's last egg was taken by my beloved dog. But to add insult to injury, after taking and eating the egg, Scrappy decided to defecate in Buddy's nest, in the fashion of a true juevenile prankster. My Dad was called outside by Buddy's furious honking to discover this deed. He removed the canine excrement with a rather long stick and discovered there to be no more eggs left in the nest. Poor Buddy! But I must say that she has recovered with commendable haste and is now back to her regular self, although I think she is a bit confused about where Bonnie has gone to. Alas, if only we could explain such things as death to animals! But I dare say that Buddy will recover, as will Scrappy, in time. Time shall heal all wounds. And thus ends my narrative; I do hope that you were somewhat diverted.