TRAVELS OF WATERFOWL 



Geese, like Mallards, take their second meal in the afternoon, following 

 regular schedules. At Skunk Creek I watched a flock of Canada Geese go 

 over the trees at about four o'clock every afternoon for five days. As with 

 ducks, there is individual variation in the time of the afternoon feeding 

 trip, so that all geese do not leave the lake at the same time. At the mouth 

 of the Whitemud River there is a traditional spring and autumn rendezvous 

 where geese loaf and preen not far from shore. I have watched the after- 

 noon departures as one flock after another breaks away from the main body 

 and starts toward the prairie. Sometimes more than two hours are consumed 

 before the last band goes out to feed. I suspect that this spread, as in ducks, 

 may be due to differences among them in the place and success of the 

 morning meal, those breakfasting first probably getting away earliest in 

 the afternoon. 



Fatigue is another cue to the passage of time. Each day there is a period 

 of rest in the rhythm of activity of all waterfowl. On our pond such loafing 

 is a part of the pen routine among both wild and captive birds. They doze 

 at the pond's edge or float with the head turned over the back, the bill 

 tucked under the scapular feathers, the eyes nearly shut in complete re- 

 pose. All are occupied with their nap at the same time. Minor disturbances 

 do not cause them to interrupt their rest, and even though the wind blows 

 hard, they continue to sleep. Then suddenly, without apparent outer in- 

 fluence, first one, then the next, lifts its head. Shortly a bird will flex its 

 wings, and the entire flock is awake. 



The morning bath of waterfowl is a sight to behold, particularly when 

 large geese and swans are so occupied. There is a wild splashing of wings 

 as they douse themselves. Then follows a dipping of the head and neck, 

 with still more wing-splashing. Finally one bird after another rolls over 

 on its back, flapping its wings while upside down in the water. Sometimes 

 a mad excitement overtakes the crowd. One bird races across the surface as 

 if the devil himself were on its tail. Then in full stride it dives. The instant 

 it comes up it goes down again; up it comes, down it goes. All the birds in 

 the flock may be consumed in this devil-chase, helter-skelter, this way and 

 that, over the water and down under. After a few minutes the divings end. 

 The flock regains composure and settles quietly to the job of preening. 



I give these details because such antics attracted the attention of Dr. 

 Roper Cadham one Sunday on his way to the store. He stopped his car for 

 a moment to watch the geese in their wild splashings and divings on the 

 Station pond, then drove on to the village. There, on the channel, another 



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