Wonky Honky - "Vermin Control Service"
- From: Redelk <redelk@xxxxxxxxxxx>
- Date: Wed, 18 Jul 2007 18:03:41 -0700
'Goose Whisperer' Bonds With Park Birds
By TOBY STERLING
Updated: 38 minutes ago
DELFT, Netherlands - A gaggle of geese runs riot in the Hof van Delft
Park. They honk, they hiss, they harass and _ it's hard not to notice
_ they scatter droppings everywhere. Soon, a lanky young man comes to
impose order on the chaos.
Whistling softly and murmuring "tut-tut-tut," he strides straight
toward the center of the flock _ a place few would dare to tread,
especially wearing clean shoes. They call him "The Goose Whisperer,"
and he has a job to do.
Martin Hof has become a minor celebrity here, in part for his ability
to communicate with fowl, which some say borders on the magical. And
while there's something special, and a little comical, about watching
him talking, humming, and yes, whispering to the birds, there's more
to this than meets the eye.
At age 23, Hof has developed an unusual approach to managing urban
geese populations that is gaining adherents in the animal-friendly
Netherlands _ the first country in the world with an animal rights
party in parliament.
"It's all about respect for the geese," he says.
The main problem at the Hof van Delft and most parks is that the birds
have been allowed to overbreed and are clashing with the humans whose
territory they share. But rather than destroying them, Hof finds new
homes for the geese, dividing them along family lines to reduce the
trauma of the move.
On the other side of the equation, he works with the humans who
consider the geese as either pets or pests. That means discouraging
feeding the birds and educating city workers on preventing the animals
from overbreeding in the first place.
"They call them 'silly geese', but they're so smart, they learn
everything," says the pony-tailed Hof. "We teach them, we silly
people, to break through their natural barrier whenever we come up to
them with bread."
After one goose lunges at a passing jogger, attempting to bite his
legs, Hof approaches the troublemaker for a little chat. To show he's
a friend, he squats to goose level and cups his hand to look like a
goose head, forefingers extended like a beak. He raises his arm up and
down, mimicking a bobbing goose head; the goose follows it with her
own head.
Their conversation is too quiet to hear, but the goose appears calmed
and waddles off to rejoin her group.
Hof says the goose wasn't being aggressive, she was just startled that
a stranger ran right into her personal space without warning. That
hissing noise geese sometimes make? "Pure stress," Hof says.
Incidents become more common when geese are fed by parkgoers, Hof
says. Eventually, children get nipped, neighbors complain and birds
are destroyed. Hof says that's wrong, and unnecessary.
To begin with, he keeps a database of a hundred or more farms or parks
that actually want a few geese. City workers usually don't have the
time for such niceties.
They slaughter indiscriminately, which is also cruel to the birds that
remain, Hof says. Geese are generally monogamous, and a pair may live
together 40 years.
Partners that are suddenly split may never recover from the shock.
"Some literally die of loneliness," he says.
For those skeptical about the emotional lives of geese, there's a more
practical reason: survivors may call endlessly for missing family
members, increasing noise problems.
After an experience saving a goose caught in a fishing net when he was
7, Hof became fascinated with the birds. Sixteen years later, he can
usually identify families at a glance.
But he carries out various tests to be sure. He walks into the middle
of a group, whistling and making a kind of clucking sound to imitate
their chatter, then observes their reaction.
"Just when I drove them apart, you saw that families started calling
each other ... they say 'hup hup hup hup: Here I am! Where are you?'"
Individuals take a little longer to get to know. But at his shelter in
the town of Coevorden, Hof fluidly names dozens by sight: Brenda,
Carmen, Aida, Flago, Sunny, Pablo, Caesar.
Hof says half his job is managing people.
Joke Fransen, walking her dog, complained vociferously about goose
droppings.
"It's getting worse every year," she said. "Put them in a pan or make
pate out of them, I say."
But after a few minutes speaking with Hof, she's beaming and laughing
too. She likes the geese, just not so many, and she wholeheartedly
prefers relocation to killing them.
To make Hof's strategy work long term, city workers also have to learn
about bird birth control.
It's not complicated: every two weeks during the late spring, a worker
needs to check near the edges of waterways for eggs. Smearing them
with corn oil is an effective and nonpolluting way to prevent unwanted
goslings.
Gerard Zwart of the Amsterdam's public health agency, which has hired
Hof's company for several projects, says the city has been so
influenced by his thinking it plans to rename its "Vermin Control
Service" to the "Nature Management Service."
The cost of using Hof's service is about the same as the old
eradication program, he says. A typical job of relocating 30 geese
would be about $2,000-$3,000.
Capturing geese for transport is "the most stressful part," Hof says.
"Yes, yes, yes, girl, I'm not going to hurt you," he tells one. "Wow,
you're a very tough guy, I can see that," he tells another that tries
to nip him.
He kisses each on the back of the neck before loading them onto his
"Royal Geese Carriage" that will whisk them away to a better life.
.
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