Forgive me for keeping you in suspense a tad longer while I report a current event. The new brood of cygnets arrived in early May and again there is a mob. Eight hatched but one could not take the cold, wet weather. The remaining seven seem to be tolerating this atrociously cold and wet spring.
And now back to 1968. It is Thanksgiving and birds of another sort are roasting in ovens all over Loch Alpine as Hugh and I head out to the foster-care pond at the Davis place. Our intent is to make a nuisance of ourselves by using row boats to chase the birds and see what happens. The great cob, Anthony, quickly took to the air and his fully grown cygnets followed. They spiraled higher and higher, disappearing into the grey, November sky. Cleopatra was pinioned and was used to their flying lessons and so calmly eluded our clumsy maneuvers while she awaited Anthony's return.
Return he did, but minus the youngsters. Excitedly we rushed back to Loch Alpine and sure enough, there were swans once again on the newly formed Greenook Lake. Anthony brought them home. What a great papa! But why were there only two? Did the third bird stop off at the mall? M y question was answered a few hours after No. 3 mysteriously appeared. Bunny and Bob Eisenhart of Bridgeway were southbound on Webster-Church Rd. heading home when Bob, squinting through his bug-spattered windshield, said, Honey, is that a swan I see by the side of the road?"
To which honey replied. "I told you not to have that last figgy pudding." But Bob was right on, that was our missing No. 3, hiking the last few miles homeward. The Eisenharts did the neighborly thing and gave the road-weary bird o lift in their new station wagon.
That night, in my prayers, I thanked Anthony for piloting his brood home, and I thanked the Eisenharts for taxi services.
The next time we would return to Webster-Church Rd. would be in December when the pond was frozen. The roles would be reversed this time as Cleo was clumsy on land and we were a little more agile than we were in boats. Anthony quickly flew off and Cleopatra fled to the high cat tails with me in hot pursuit and I caught her. We reunited with the cygnets at the spillway and waited for Anthony to appear, but we waited and waited and waited all winter.
Ironically, Anthony's homecoming was on April Fool's Day. He floated down from the sunny morning sky like a great white dandelion puff. I would know my favorite swan anywhere, but his leg band was positive proof that this indeed was our wanderer. Cleopatra was also positive and met him in the middle of the lake and they spent several minutes in friendly greeting while the three cygnets clustered around each other, unsure of what to do until Anthony made it crystal clear that they were to clear out, pronto.
With last year's brood gone the mated pair set about making a nest on their traditional island site and successfully hatched the 1969 brood. One of that brood is still with us today - his name is Caesar. And how he came to remain is another story.