Encounters: Gander at the gardener

By SUSAN BUCKLAND

I'm in Western Springs walking the dog (on the lead) and thinking how Auckland can turn on a pearler when it's not raining, when towards us comes a gaggle of geese. They are not friendly waddlers. This lot is hissing in the rather menacing way of geese. The largest is stretching his neck above the rest and egging them forward.

Hell, all Benson and I want to do is sit down for a moment beside the pond and think about how peaceful life can sometimes be. Benson is unperturbed. Strong as a small ox, my black labrador is keen on closer acquaintance with the goose brigade. I have other ideas. Geese and I have had a run in before.

That was in Norfolk Island. I was hoping to score an interview with Colleen McCullough , author of The Thorn Birds among others. McCullough had left Australia some years before to live in the tranquil tax haven of Norfolk Island. When I discovered that she was off the island, I fell back on plan B: interview McCullough's gardener. A local had assured me that the gardener's knowledge went beyond the botanical.

He lived down by the ruins of Norfolk Island's notorious penal settlement. And adjacent to the bridge, which some say is stained with the blood of some poor wretch who tried to escape the brutal jail. Norfolk Islanders often talk of ghosts. And I'd have to agree that the atmosphere around the old jail is heavy with the spirits of those who were incarcerated there. Despite the presence of a golf course and players putting cheerfully away. And despite the droll notice on Colleen McCullough's gardener's gate. "Wanted," it said. "An outboard motor. She must be able to cook, clean and turn on and off as required. Apply within."

Then I noticed the geese. Gathering round my legs were six, seven, eight, then a couple of dozen. They must have emerged from the gardener's place when I was contemplating the outboard motor advertisement. At first they jostled forward, honking in an investigatory way. But when I tried goose-stepping out of their circle they began hissing. I began to feel uneasy. There was no obvious way of retreat. Where was the gardener?

Did he send his guard geese out to vet potential applicants for the outboard motor job?

Then from under the fence a fox terrier appeared and darted at the geese, nonchalantly scattering their circle and sizing me up with a wagging tail. Then he darted back under the fence, leaving me to pander to the ganders and almost as swiftly the geese closed in again.

I decided to do what the Chinese are said to do when they encounter dogs they don't know. Stand still. With luck the geese would get bored. Not a hope. They moved closer. I was going to have to try diplomacy.

"Why don't you be nice goosies and hiss off," I suggested. Fortunately the fox terrier once again came to my aid, scattering their circle long enough for me to break out and head back up the road.

I never did write the story about what the gardener knew. And back home in Western Springs, I won't be challenging goose power. There's always another pond to sit beside.