Whack a Goose!

Goose Whacking

“Get back. Stop it. No!”

My head, one arm, and a shoulder are crammed into the tiny door on the Duck Hall, and I’m yelling at the so-called Ladies, my four large crabby geese. Try as I might, I can’t reach them, but my flailing seems to get their attention. Later, I confess to Dane, “I’ve stooped to swatting the geese.” I’m sure PETA would have a heyday with that.

My ducks and geese coexist in the Duck Hall and spend all day foraging around the backyard and pasture or splashing in the creek. I often brag about my happy-go-lucky flock that lay huge, healthy eggs with brilliant yellow yolks, thanks to spending their days free-ranging twelve months of the year.

However, there’s a maddening, hair-pulling time each evening that contradicts that happy picture.

When it’s time for them to go into the Duck Hall for the night, when the Ladies are laying for the first time after winter and are all hormonal, they parade up the ramp ahead of the ducks, as if dressed in their Sunday best, hats on, and carrying their purses up the church steps.

Only my Ladies aren’t intent on getting their favorite pew. Once inside, they turn and peck each duck that dares to come in the door! Peck! Peck! Peck! The ducks retreat and don’t want to go inside, but they have to, and their fear breaks my heart.

Over the years, we’ve tried installing boards that the ducks can quickly duck behind so the Ladies can’t pester them. But the Ladies hang out by the door, beaks ready to pull a few feathers from their friends—at least, their friends most hours of the day and night, except for that one witchy evening hour.

I remember my Dad helping me get ready for bed when I was little. After a leg or foot rub, I’d climb into the top bunk, get comfy under the covers, and he’d say prayers with me. Then he’d say, “Sleep tight, don’t let the bed bugs bite.” I loved our nightly sleep ritual.

So I’m furious that my ducks don’t get a gentle tucking in at night!

After I back out of the little door, I walk around to the big door to surprise any Lady who’s still engaged in bullying. But that can backfire. The whole flock notices and rushes past me, out the big door, and I spend the next thirty minutes herding them all back through the fence, into their enclosure, and up the ramp again to the little door.

So I came up with a plan: I’d buy a large dog house with a removable top for easy cleaning and put it inside the flock’s fenced enclosure. Then I’d herd the ducks into that and the Ladies into the Duck Hall. I spent lots of time poring over doghouse options, seeking the biggest and best for the lowest price. It was delivered in a giant, lightweight box. Dane commented more than once on how fragile it seemed.

I coerced Dane into doing the assembly while I read the directions, handed him the right screws or dowels, and supervised. There’s no need to mention how that went. Let’s just say there were two floor boards left over when we finished. And thanks to someone other than me, they are now where they should have gone in the first place.

It soon became clear that Project Doghouse for Ducks would never work. The house was too flimsy, the ducks would be overcrowded, and even with the removable top, it would be too hard to clean. Ducks are messy!

So we carried the doghouse to the backyard, filled it with straw, and stacked cement blocks on either side of it, knowing that Louisa, the pig, would topple it just by rubbing against it.

That evening, the Ladies were again the first to march up the ramp while the ducks lagged behind. None of them wanted to be the first duck in, and I could see the Ladies milling inside, ready to start their nasty pecking.

Frustrated and angry, I shoved my head and arm through the tiny door. “Don’t even think about it!” I yelled, waving my hand at them, trying to whack anyone ready to peck a duck. They looked at me as if I were crazed, while the ducks quickly waddled off behind the boards, seeking safety.

I watched until they had all settled down peacefully, then carefully backed out and closed their little ducky door.

Before leaving, I whispered, “Good night, sleep tight. Don’t let the Ladies bite.” Knowing tomorrow evening would come soon enough, I smiled as I walked back up to the house.