The return of the geese

So the geese are back...

For those who do not know the geese, they are the six, formerly seven but Stanley-of-the-one-foot died, uncontrollable, troublemaking, champion avian wrestling, peaocock-chasing guardians of the cottage. Officially known as Egyptian Geese, Alopochen aegyptiaca in Latin and "O bloody hell not you again"in the vernacular of the cottage.

About six weeks ago, when Port Elizabeth was struck with particularly hot weather, the geese disappeared. Now I realise they must have stolen an old lady's Lotto money and used it to go on a luxury liner cruise where they ate lots of ice-cream and harassed the waiters.

This morning over morning coffee I thought it wise to catch them up.

"We have a bat now. His name is Christopher and apart from one unfortunate sojourn into the house he has since learned his place and now provides an elegant though slightly evil presence to the ambiance of the cottage by hanging in the tree, stealing the mongooses' apples and giving the "stare of doom" to all who do not belong at the cottage.

The geese seemed fairly impressed with Christopher although they seemed a bit worried about the grammar in the explanation.

"Yes, that is the plural of mongoose," I said and since when do you care so much about grammar?

"As you now figured out," I continued, "Jean-Luc has a new friend, so the amount of apples they get doubled, but that still does not mean that there are any for you."

As if on cue Jean-Luc who has been in a sulky mood of late made an appearance looking fairly happy to see the geese.

Then I realised why.

"Yes," I said. "We also have a cat now. His name is Finn. He can come in the house because there is no possibility that he has rabies," I said looking at the sulky mongoose. "And yes, Rambo, the frog, has disappeared but it has nothing to do with the kitten. Also the swallows have left for warmer climates with strict instructions that we mustn't destroy their house again," I said. "The owls, Clive and Mrs. Clive and baby Clive are still around as is Stanton the tortoise and the little brown morning-alarm bird and we are still visited occassionally by the peacock, the horse and the pig. All is well."

At this point he geese descended in what I can only assume was a lively discussion of the new arrival at the cottage.

"No you cannot eat the kitten or take it for flights or swims in the dams," I said. The geese looked disappointed.

"And you are not to laugh when I rescue him from the tree. And no Jean-Luc I am not taking you for blood-tests to confirm that you are not carrying rabies. You still cannot get into the house."

Then, with great noise, inelegant flapping of wings and terrible sqwaking, the hadeedahs landed on the lawn for their morning. The geese looked shocked.

"You see what happens when you just pack up and leave without notice?" I ask.

They looked shocked for a second but then set about their old energetic-hadeedah chasing ways.

All is again as it should be. (Am buying Finn some pepper spray to be on the safe side).