Country life
Plotting my revenge
Leanda de Lisle
The toad boffins appear to be having one last burst of activity before their grant runs out and they leave us forever. They have nailed out a checkerboard in string down by the lakes. I am absolutely delight- ed. I've never seen such a construction in all the years the ecologists have worked here and I'm completely mystified as to what it could be for. Finding it put a spring in my step as I tootled around the lakes after tea the other day.
My good spirits faltered slightly when I came across an old crisp packet. Why do people have to leave their filthy rubbish all over the place? The last time I took the children for a walk in the woods we discov- ered milk crates, plastic bags and strips of loo paper lying among the wood anemones. Perhaps we should start taking drastic mea- sures to keep trespassers out. I'm sure I could get some useful tips from the Nation- al Lottery winner who has moved in next door.
Our neighbour is a man who values his privacy. At the end of his drive he has a remote-control gate, mounted with security cameras. He has put up rolls of razor sharp wire where his land marches with ours and if a really determined litter-bug gets through, he risks being eaten by guard dogs, or garrotted by the new bodyguard. It is terribly impressive, but my chat with the neighbour is going to have to wait as he is doing a little time at the moment.
Putting aside any immediate plans to acquire punji stakes and anti-personnel mines, I walked past the crisp packet, strik- ing up an imaginary argument with its owner. Gradually, my muttering got louder and my gesticulations wilder until I was so carried away I nearly stepped on a Canadi- an goose. The bird hissed at me and flapped its wings. 'Go away you horrible creature,' I shouted, but the goose looked even angrier than I, so I went away instead.
The following day I mustered enough courage to return, but the goose had gone and all that was left was a pile of feathers. I can't say I was sorry. Canadian geese eat the crops, pollute the ponds, frighten away other wildlife and leave great green turds all over the lawns. They can live for over a decade and produce an average of seven chicks a year.
The most humane way to reduce their numbers is to prick their eggs, which is exactly what I tried to do to the eggs I found a few yards beyond the feathers. I used a twig, which bent, and by the time I found another our labrador had discovered them and eaten the lot. The wretched geese will now go away and lay more, quite probably on the island in the middle of the lake, where neither the dogs nor I can get at them. Such frustrations fray the nerves.
I snapped one afternoon last summer when a whole flock of new geese flew in. The toad boffins spotted me running across the lawn at the birds shouting, 'Die, die.' I'm told they looked rather startled, but I happen to know our toad folk sympathised with my sentiments. There were numerous murmurs of approval when, shortly after the incident on the lawn, the gamekeeper came over and shot five geese. However, he won't be doing that again this year. I'd feel obliged to eat one and the goose we roasted after last year's massacre tasted utterly disgusting. Instead, I'm going to invent a cruel and unusual revenge for all those times I've laid my head on the soft spring grass and had to pick goose excrement out of my hair. I think the string checkerboard could be used to trip geese up and make them look foolish. I'll just have to glue some goose grub to one of the children's remote con- trol cars and zoom it under the string. With luck a goose will pursue it and fall flat on its face into a crisp bag. That'll cheer up my evening walk, I can tell you.
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