Swan Song Read Free Page A

leg, fool,” she chided him, but she set the pitchers down to offer him a hand.
    Duane didn’t seem to take offense and accepted her helping hand without blustering, as so many other young men might have done in his place, I thought. Perhaps it had to do with his being gay—nothing testosterone-related to prove. I removed the cover from my own pitcher as Becky dusted the snow from Duane’s jeans and collected theirs.
    “The important thing is to spread the corn out in several long rows so the birds don’t have to fight each other to get at it. They’re only going to get a few mouthfuls each, so we don’t want to make it any more difficult for them.” I emptied my pitcher carefully in a long row, and the two young people did the same, leaving several inches of space between the rows. We retreated to the relative comfort of the car, glad to get out of the wind even after our brief exposure. Within seconds, the onslaught began in a whirlwind of flapping wings as the hungry birds fell upon our offering. Duane and Becky gaped as a dozen ducks became fifty, jostling for position along the rows of corn as they attempted to snatch what few kernels they could.
    Bringing up the rear and off to the side a bit came the ones who could not fly for one reason or another. Not wanting to make pets out of these wild creatures, more for my sake than theirs, I’d avoided naming most of them, but three of the geese had been regulars for several years, and I hadn’t been able to help myself. Droopy’s right wing sagged against his body, obviously badly broken at some point years ago. Gimpy limped heavily on a twisted foot, still bearing a metal band around one leg. My heart went out to both injured males, even as I searched for my favorite, a female I’d dubbed Fray. Instead of being covered with feathers, her right wing stuck out from her body like the slats of a denuded umbrella, rendering her totally unable to fly. I searched the bank and was rewarded by the sight of her clambering awkwardly up the slippery snow bank to where I’d put a small stash of cracked corn off to the side. Despite her clumsy gait coming out of the water, Fray easily inserted herself into the throng and hissed her way to an advantageous position. She may have been injured, but she was feisty. I’d known her for years.
    “Awww, look at that poor thing,” Becky commiserated, pointing Fray out to Duane. “What happened to it, do you know?”
    “It’s called angel wing,” I told her, “and it is a she. The deformity is caused by people misguidedly feeding the young ones junk like bread when their wings are growing. Geese can’t digest that stuff. They’re mostly vegetarians, and if they have open water, they can usually find enough food to sustain themselves. That’s why the hurt ones hang out here. The underground springs that supply the pond keep the water moving.” I pointed out the spillway at the edge of the pond, which directed a steady stream of water under the road through a culvert and out into the marsh on the other side.
    Duane looked thoughtful. “Can her wing be fixed? What about catching her and taking her to the nature center on Prospect Street?”
    I smiled at his eagerness to do something constructive. “It’s too late, I’m afraid. Once the geese are adults, angel wing can’t be fixed. But Fray seems happy here. I’ve known her for years, and she always has company. This year, it looks like a little too much company, but I’ve never had the heart to chase off the birds that can fly. They all need open water to survive.”
    “How do you know Fray is a girl? I can’t tell them apart,” Becky said after another minute.
    “There’s very little difference between male and female Canada geese,” I agreed, “but as I said, I’ve been feeding Fray for many winters now. I wean myself from them in the spring, but every now and then Armando and I will drive by the pond to check out the babies. A couple of years ago, we happened