My family, the part in Alaska, has, or, more precisely, had, the most interesting variety of pets. We didn't have a farm, precisely, but we had chickens, and ducks, geese, gerbils, the odd fish, and my sister's horse. When my sister finally left, my parents were left with a few chickens and the pair of geese, Toulouse and Friendly.
Friendly was named Friendly because she was. Toulouse wasn't named Friendly, because he wasn't. That's the way ganders are. They hiss and grinch and flap and look at you evilly if you look crosswise at their goose the wrong way.
My mother tells me that Friendly died recently. I'm going to miss her. They just have the gander, now -- the chickens have all died or been given away. I miss Storm, the chaos chicken. I miss Dragon. I miss Hematite, and Onyx, the matching little black hens, one shiny like hematite, one black and glossy like onyx.
We just have left Toulouse, the widower gander with great lumps on the bottoms of his webbed feet. He can't walk far these days, but he'd patiently follow Friendly around wherever she went, no matter how much his feet hurt. I don't know how much longer he'll live.
Of all the sounds the geese made, I loved best the gentle sounds Toulouse made when talking quietly to Friendly.
A widower gander by himself....