FIGHT TO A DRAW

Linda, here, posted a blog the other day on swans that reminded me of a story involving s dear friend who is no longer with us. This is a story he loved to tell.

John and Becky were retired and had put in a large, lovely pond at their home. John thought graceful swans floating around the pond would just make it perfect. He researched the species so he could provide them with a good habitat and care for he never went off willy nilly into any project.

John was aware that swans are the largest and generally considered the most beautiful of waterfowl. Males are known as a cob, a female is a pen and the young are called cygnets. The more he learned, the more excited he got. He was impressed that they mated for life and would hopefully run off the messy geese who stopped by the pond. Add their beauty and grace to the mix and what was not to like?

He finally purchased a mated pair and installed them in his pond. Oh was he a happy guy. They were beautiful floating gracefully around his pond. Then he discovered something he had not found in his research. A swan can have 25,000 feathers and they seemed to shed like a dog. The area around his pond periodically looked like a fresh snow fall. Another chore added to his list but he was still enamored with the birds. They were his pride and joy.

Late one night, John heard a terrible racket out by the pond. By the time he got dressed and armed it was too late. Something had killed his female. The carnage was awful and John was just sick at the loss. The cob was very riled up so John left the female where she was and decided to bury her in the morning. He stayed on his porch with gun in hand till morning, hoping the predictor would return. Morning however brought on a new problem.

The male was still upset as daylight came. His neck was stretched out and bobbed rhythmically as he spread his massive 6 foot wingspan in display. John hesitantly stepped over the small fence around the pond and headed for the female's body which was laying against the wall of the shelter. He bent over to pick her up when he was clubbed from behind and forcefully thrust against the wall of the shelter. He turned to see the male in full attack. The outraged bird was not about to let John cart off his mate.

These birds are quite large when fully stretched out. John grabbed the thick neck in both hands to keep the beak away from his face. The bird had him pinned against the wall so John was in full defense mode and trapped. He was amazed at the birds strength and it was taking all he had to keep it off him. He could not stop the wings though that came down on his arms and shoulders again and again with a series of painful blows. On and on they kept up this bizarre battle till John felt his strength giving out.

Finally the bird backed off, dropped his wings to the ground and lowered his head. John sank against the shelter, shaking and sucking air. Like a couple of drunks after a saloon fight. they stared at each other across the torn up patch of dirt, both completely exhausted. John was too tired for another round and fortunately, the bird was also. Finally he made a move and the swan just followed him with its eyes. The fight was over. It was a draw.

John said his love of the bird was damaged that day a but mutual respect was born. They shared an uneasy peace the rest of their time together. Whenever I would visit, that bird would come at me hissing and posturing till he saw John, Then he would just lower his head and return to the pond. That odd couple shared a grudging respect that had to be seen to be believed.

You told the story much better John with your arm waves and sly grins. You were one of my favorite story tellers. You are missed.