|Our only coronavirus marina guest. He's the dorkiest goose I've ever met.|
Before long, every time Wayne came out his newfound feathered friend beelined his way over to our boat—fast.
More bread. Tortilla chips. Crackers.
"Next time we go to the store, we should get whole wheat bread, with seeds," Wayne suggested.
|Beau, waiting, expectantly. Eventually, I will get a photo of him|
in his new favorite pose—mouth open, his long, skinny red tongue out.
Wayne smiled and flushed.
"Please don't feed him bread," a GWT reader emailed. "It causes angel wing syndrome."
|Image from NatureMuseum.org, advising, "Don't feed the waterfowl."|
We gotta give him a name, I insisted (and either more appropriate food, or, better yet, charming and insistent as the goose is, none at all).
"Dork," he said. "He's a dork, so call him The Dork."
I'm calling him Beauregard; that's a dorky enough name. Beau for short.
This afternoon the girl in the boat in the next slip tossed the goose goldfish crackers. Beau ignored the crackers—until Wayne tossed him one. Then the goose decided they were indeed quite edible.
Tonight he tossed Beau a tater tot. "Dork says tater tots are good grub," Wayne announced. (Fatty, salty food is especially bad for geese.)
"Tater tots don't float."
"Yeah, he dove for it."
"You were so worried about feeding him unhealthy food. Instead, you've turned him into a junk food junkie!"
Come June, Beau will sort it out. We push off from the marina then. I'm gonna miss The Dork, err, I mean Beau.
Be healthy, Beau, even if it means your diet is not nearly as fun. We can relate.
|Beau, our friendly fowl. Jantzen Bay Marina.|