WILD WINGS: A FAREWELL 309 



fore sunset, a solitary goose came Hying by me towards 

 the sea, keeping only a foot or two above the ground. 

 It was a wounded bird, shot somewhere on its feeding- 

 ground, and, being unable to keep with the flock, was 

 travelling slowly and painfully to the roosting-place on 

 the sands. When it had got about a couple of hundred 

 yards past me a few redshanks rose from the edge of 

 the creek and, after wheeling round once or twice, 

 dropped down again in the same place, and no sooner 

 had they alighted than the goose turned aside from 

 his course and, flying straight to them, pitched on the 

 ground at their side. That is just how a bird of social 

 disposition will always act when forsaken by his fellows 

 and in distress: it will try to get with others, however 

 unlike its own species they may be — even a goose with 

 redshanks; and this, too, in a most dangerous place for 

 a goose to delay in, where gunners are accustomed to 

 hide in the creeks. It was evident that he was ill at 

 ease and troubled at my presence, as after alighting 

 he continued standing erect with head towards me. 

 There he remained with the redshanks for full fifteen 

 minutes, but he had not been more than two minutes 

 on the spot before a passing hooded crow dropped 

 down close to and began walking round him. The 

 crow will not attack a wounded goose, even when badly 

 wounded, but he knows when a bird is in trouble and 

 he must satisfy his inquisitive nature by looking closely 

 at him to find out how bad he really is. The goose, 

 too, knows exactly what the crow's life and mind is, 

 and no doubt despises him. I watched them intently. 



