Month: May 2021

I was engaged in a staring contest with a Canada goose. I lost.

In a recent stroll along the Fox River, I came upon a family of Canada geese. There were mom and dad in the charming company of their six adorable, fluffy offspring, busily grazing on fresh spring grass along the narrow strip of greenway between the sidewalk and the bank sloping down to the water. I should clarify: the male goose was not doing any eating. Mating pairs of Canada geese follow traditional gender roles: the female builds the nest and incubates the eggs, while the male, the gander, serves as guard and protector. As I approached, this gander was faithfully and diligently doing his job. The closer I got to his family, the more erect his posture became, and he locked his black eyes on mine. When I got to a spot opposite where mama and goslings were gorging on sweet shoots of grass, he was on high alert and positioned himself between me and his family. I was no more than eight feet from him.

Out of curiosity (or foolhardiness, if you prefer), I decided to stand there for a short while to observe the gander’s behavior. I stayed completely still, as did he. Over the next five minutes, he never budged or took his eyes off of mine. I was impressed that his family didn’t pay any attention to me, so trusting were they of his ability to protect them. When I became restless, I decided to try a little experiment: what would I need to do to prompt a reaction from him? I started by simply leaning my upper body slightly in his direction. That was enough. He opened his mouth wide, calling attention to his bill and tongue, both of which are serrated. Ouch. It was the goose equivalent of a suspicious dog baring its teeth. I wisely decided to walk on. Score one for the geese. Impressed by this bird’s pluck, I smiled as I went on my way.

Around here, it’s as if the Canada geese are in charge. Countless times since we moved here nine years ago, I’ve had to stop and wait in my car on a local street while some geese strolled across the thoroughfare. And I mean stroll. Blissfully unconcerned about the traffic jam they’re causing, the geese are seldom in any particular hurry in that situation. If you’re in the lead car, the lead goose invariably gives you a defiant look as if to say, “Don’t even THINK about moving. We OWN this place.” I find their bossiness and fearlessness endearing, but not everyone feels the same way about these large birds.

Canada geese have a PR problem. They seem to be everywhere: golf courses, public parks and parking lots, yards abutting or near water, retention ponds on corporate campuses, plowed corn fields. Wherever they are, they tend to take over. As herbivores with a diet consisting mostly of grasses, they are prolific poopers, creating unsightly messes on walkways and expanses of manicured lawns. Geese are quite vocal and loud. Some people find their honking less than poetic when the geese are their neighbors. Occasionally they also contribute to dramatic news headlines. There have been numerous reports of Canada geese attacking passers-by. There was also the well-known incident in 2009, when US Airways flight 1549 encountered a flock of migratory Canada geese after taking off from La Guardia Airport in New York. The birds are large enough that the collision resulted in a total loss of engine power. While the pilot landed the aircraft safely on the Hudson River, no human lives were lost, and Tom Hanks starred in the 2016 film inspired by the incident, the Canada geese struck by the aircraft didn’t fare so well, and the species’ reputation suffered another blow.

While it will surprise no one that conservationists classify this species as “least concern” from a population perspective, Canada geese weren’t always so numerous. By the early twentieth century, overhunting and habitat loss had dropped their numbers considerably. By the end of the century, conservation efforts and the reduction of their natural predators led to their rebound. And their numbers continue to increase, in some cases dramatically. Credit the adapatability of the Canada goose for its continued rise. It has learned to be comfortable around humans and has decided that some of our manmade landscapes are ideal habitats. Take parks and gold courses, for example. There is often water close by, which is a requirement, and they typically have large areas featuring the birds’ main source of food: grass. Even better, the well-tended lawns give them a sense of security; their openness makes it harder for a predator to sneak up on the geese. The birds have found some of these places in urban and semiurban areas so pleasing that increasing numbers of the north-breeding populations no longer migrate south for the winter. We have our own group of permanent residents here. Often in winter months I have seen them in local parks rooting around with their bills to find grass under the snow.

As much as I am not fond of dodging goose poop on the sidewalks of my favorite park, I have to admire their gumption, flexibility, and ability to survive – and even thrive – as their environment has changed. There is much else to admire about these large waterfowl. Those that migrate fly in their recognizable V formation, with experienced geese taking turns as the leader of the flock. This V formation, which is also used by aircraft flying together, reduces the birds’ wind resistance, enabling them to use their energy more efficiently. Canada geese can fly up to 1,500 miles in one day in favorable weather conditions.

My park encounter with the gander was evidence of how protective the geese are as parents. They can be downright fierce keeping any potential predators away from the nest and goslings – including other geese that invade their nest territory – and most of their aggression toward humans is to defend their young. Once the goslings hatch, they are fully able to walk, swim, and eat; the parents are on guard duty until the goslings reach maturity. Some of the adults also display a fascinating co-parenting behavior after the goslings hatch. After witnessing a pair of geese loudly and forcefully defend their nest from an encroaching goose pair a few weeks ago, I was surprised last week to see ten goslings peacefully swimming along with four adults. I have since learned that when there are a lot of geese nesting in relatively close proximity, different sets of parents will sometimes bring their goslings together, with the adults sharing babysitting duties. These groups are called crèches. Sometimes a large group of goslings (as many as 30 or more have been seen) will be overseen periodically by just one or two adults, which gives the other parents a welcome respite from their protector role. It’s another ingenious goose adaptation.

In a world where our natural environment is under relentless change, it is reassuring to me that the unmistakable sound of honking geese flying overhead will continue to be heard for some time to come. What’s good for the goose is our understanding.

Muskrat, Muskrat,
Candlelight
Doin’ the town
And doin’ it right in the evening
It’s pretty pleasin’

Muskrat Suzie
Muskrat Sam
Do the jitterbug out in Muskrat Land
And they shimmy
Sammy’s so skinny

And they whirl
And they twirl and they tango
Singin’ and jinglin’ a jangle
Floatin’ like the heavens above
Looks like Muskrat Love

Those are the opening lines of the soft rock song “Muskrat Love” (originally titled “Muskrat Candlelight”) by Willis Alan Ramsey. If you followed popular music in the 1970s, those lyrics might sound familiar. Two well-known groups recorded the tune: the band America in 1973 and Captain and Tennille in 1976, whose version peaked at No. 4 on the Hot 100 music chart.

You may be wondering, as I did at the time, why write a song about muskrats? Of all the creatures to make the subject of a song, why pick a member of the rodent family with “rat” in its name? That’s an association that doesn’t exactly create warm and fuzzy feelings. In the animal kingdom, they don’t stand out in appearance, swiftness, or grace. Now that I have gotten to know them much better, I am beginning to understand why they were a source of inspiration for the songwriter.

When we moved to West Dundee northwest of Chicago nine years ago, we didn’t realize we had moved to Muskrat Land. These semiaquatic animals always live by water, and there’s lots of water in these parts. Creeks, rivers, swamps, marshes, ponds, lakes, drainage ditches, and canals. If it has still or slow-moving water and is supplied with plants they love to eat, like cattails and bulrushes, you might find muskrats there.

In this past year of pandemic limitations, when Steve and I have spent more time than ever out in nature, we have seen muskrats so frequently they have become like good friends we miss when they’re not around. When we started visiting a local creek crossing to observe wildlife, we seldom stopped there for fifteen minutes or more without seeing at least one swimming about or climbing up the bank to munch on green grasses, sitting on its haunches and using its long-clawed front paws to hold its food. On several occasions we have see one along a small stream situated running parallel to a road in a residential area; at other times we’ve spied one cruising along the Fox River. And twice I have seen one in and along a drainage ditch next to the Fox River bike trail. In one instance it was eating grass a short distance off the trail and didn’t budge – or even look up – as I strolled past.

My most recent sighting was just one week ago. I had completed a walk at a favorite local forest preserve, and as I neared the parking lot, a fast-moving animal caught the corner of my eye. It was a muskrat I had startled in a grassy area near the edge of a marsh. I stopped and stood as still as I could. Since it hadn’t run far – only 20 feet or so – I decided to stand there to see if it would come any closer. Over the next ten minutes as I watched, it apparently decided I wasn’t a threat and came nearer and nearer, nibbling on green shoots each step of the way, until it was just six or seven feet from where I stood. I was glad that it stayed put when I slowly took out my phone, lifted it up, and took its picture. That experience was the closest I had ever been to a muskrat.

What did I see? In the bright sunshine out of the water, its fur was an attractive deep, rich, almost chestnut-brown color, and looked thick and luxurious. I felt a burning desire to bury my fingers into it. No wonder muskrats are trapped for their pelts to this day. Members of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police still wear muskrat fur hats in the winter (at one point bowing to pressure from animal rights activists by replacing muskrat fur with a synthetic alternative, only to reverse their decision when the artificial material didn’t match the muskrat fur’s durabiility or warmth). I was charmed by the animal’s rounded, roly-poly appearance on land. (In the water, when they are stretched out for swimming, they look much more streamlined.) While its long black tail is hairless like that of a mouse or rat, it also looks strong and powerful, and at such close range I could clearly see the vertically flat shape that, with its snakelike motion, helps propel them through the water. The muskrat’s short snout gives it an approachable appearance, while its small, black beady eyes make it look almost comically suspicious. Overall, they make a pleasing sight in their unassuming way.

The more I learned about muskrats, the more engaging they became. The “musk” part of their name refers to an odorous (musky) secretion they use to mark their territory. Although they are rodents, they are only distant relatives of rats. They are most closely related to lemmings, voles, and hamsters. Spending much of their time in the water, they are skillful swimmers, with webbed hind feet for paddling. They can swim both backwards and forwards and can stay underwater for up to 20 minutes at a stretch. Their front feet feature long claws, which they use to dig tunnels. If they are in an area with steep banks or a dam, they dig a tunnel for their den that starts below the waterline and rises up to a chamber above, where they can stay warm and dry and raise their young. When a tunnel is not an option, such in as a marsh environment, they build lodges, or “push-ups,” which are mounds of vegetation and mud that rise above the water and also have an entrance below the waterline. In the winter, if food becomes scarce, they sometimes eat some of the plants comprising the inside of their lodge.

Muskrats serve important ecological functions. They are omnivores, but 95 percent of their diet consists of plant materials, which helps to maintain open areas in marshes that provide habitiat for aquatic birds. Geese and swans are big fans of these rodents. They consider their lodges prime nesting sites, with these advantages: their locations in open water protect the nesting female and eggs from land predators, and the birds can more easily spot avian predators that may be close by. Muskrats are also an important food source for a large number of species, including some mammals, reptiles, large fish, and raptors.

With wild adult muskrats having an average life span of just three to four years, how is it that the species seems so prevalent? Not only do I see them regularly in our immediate area, but I can see six or eight lodges scattered around one large marsh I often drive by. They are listed as a species of “least concern” by conservationists. The answer? They are prodigiously prolific breeders. Females can have two to three litters a year, with six to eight young per litter. Looks like muskrat love.

Nibbling on bacon
Chewing on cheese
Sam says to Suzie
Honey, would you please be my Mrs
Suzie says yes with her kisses

Now, he’s tickling her fancy
Rubbing her toes
Muzzle to muzzle
Now anything goes as they wriggle
Sue starts to giggle

And they whirl
And they twirl and they tango
Singin’ and jinglin’ a jangle
Floating like the heavens above
Looks like muskrat love