The Lonely Goose on The Durme

I live near the River Durme a few kilometres from the small East Flanders city of Lokeren dating back to the twelfth century. On both sides of the Durme dike style banks around three to four metres high were built along its whole length to protect the low lying land beyond. 

The right bank was topped by an old tow path — like English canals — to allow horses to pull barges. Today the tow path is paved from the city centre to outlying communities providing an eco-friendly path for cyclists and (dog) walkers. The road I live on ends at the river bank and connects to the tow path. Like many others I often use this path to walk with my dog.

Throughout this past winter almost every morning a familiar grey goose stood sentinel like, head posed high honking his vuvuzela like voice in regular beats. At first I thought it was to warn off my dog, although there was no need to worry since my dog grew up with chickens and has no interest in chasing birds.

As this became a regular occurrence other folks in the street noticed this and I realised the honks were for another reason. One of my neighbours, whose daughter is into horse riding, took pity and every few days left a small heap of dried maize for the goose. This life line was quickly noticed and in no time the goose had regular company of a dozen or so mallards and coots.

 The presence of the other birds didn’t seem to faze our goose, in fact he seemed to welcome them, and later in the day we would often see him, now sated, serenely sailing down the Durme like the large barge of Osiris with his flotilla of smaller ducks and (usually squabbling) coots.

On more than one occasion on early mornings, when the others were too sleepy to notice the next delivery of maize I saw the Durme goose honking his tune to call the duck and coots to breakfast. I've even seen him guard the maize without taking a morsel until the others arrived.

Unfortunately, his cheerful tale has a sad side. Durme Goose has been around quite a while, he was here when I arrived in 2018 and he’d been here a while before that. In those days he lived further up the river, in the garden of a posh house where the river bends toward Lokeren, with his partner and adopted child — an odd looking mixed breed mallard with a feathery top-knot known around here as “The Beatle.”

During last summer fate dealt Durme Goose a heavy blow. One of the little pleasure boats people hire for a trips along the river for a floating picnic with champagne, accidentally hit Durme’s partner —  she died from her injuries. It was sad to see our goose alone on the river with only his adopted Beatle for a friend. 

Then life proved how cruel it really can be when, in the autumn, Beatle died. Ducks have a shorter lifespan than geese.

During the next couple of months our goose was alone, but I noticed on my walks sometimes Durme Goose had been be joined by a paired couple of Mallards. They seemed to be firm friends. Then, one by one, other ducks and even coots would join them for a occasional gaggle.

So when the winter arrived it seemed the duck’s community spirit was rewarded when Durme Goose ensured all his friends got fair shares of any handout going.

Recently it’s been quiet. I thought the ducks have deserted him, after all it is spring. Families to plan, chicks to bring up. He cut a lonely figure yesterday, but this morning I noticed him following a a part-bred brown and white goose and this afternoon his old friends the duck couple joined them. 

Maybe his lonely days are over.