My favourite goose popped her clogs this morning. No obvious reason. She just went to sleep and didn’t wake up. She’s the thoughtful looking goose at the very bottom of the photo.
When she was a gosling (she was one of the first 20 we ever got), she started tearing the feathers out of her flockmates each night. She actually killed one of them (it died a few days later from its injuries we think). When we realised what she was doing, we gave the injured goose a ‘luxury apartment’ at the end of the trailer where they all lived, and built a basic bedsit for Redleg so that she could unlearn her bad ways. It worked, but we didn’t initially trust her fully, so we gave her a red ring on her leg to identify her.
I figure she was bored. She was the cleverest goose. While the others were pointlessly bashing their heads on the fence, trying to get through, she would always work her way to the exit and walk through there instead.
She never gained a lot of weight, even at Christmas, but there must have been something attractive about her as she was officially the Most Shagged Goose at egg-laying time.
Miss you already, clever Redleg. x