The four cygnets are going about their business of growing up, Cleotoo is passing out her pearls of wisdom to them and Caesar is resting in the shade, looking very tired and very old. When he walks he limps painfully and he looks like he's in a constant state of molt. He's in the shade now but for three decades he has basked in the Loch Alpine sunshine. Soon he'll fold up his wings for good.
Thirty-two years ago he was hatched under a gray cloud. When only a few weeks old, he and his sibling, Brutus, were carried away by a woman who lived near Foster bridge who thought a nice pair of swans would make her birthday a memorable one. She clipped their wings, rendering them flightless for a year, and kept them penned in her boathouse. But one day in early fall they slipped past her to freedom on the Huron River. The river froze early in l969 and the two cygnets were a worrisome sight, just sitting near Maple Road day in and day out until two Loch Alpine ladies, Jane Becker and Jan Schmidt, decided it was time to bring them home. They filled their pockets with cookies (for enticements) and roped themselves together (for safety) and thus set out on a Wednesday afternoon just shy of Christmas.
|
Caesar in his glory days, circa 1981. |
To make a long story short the bird-napped swans were safely rescued but top cob, Anthony, died trying to force the intruders to vacate his nesting place. Caesar went on to mate with Cleopatra II and after her demise, with Cleotoo.
Besides his inauspicious first year of life, poor old Caesar endured several life threatening hardships that would have killed a lesser bird. I'm reminded of a very cold New Year's Day when I found him hunched over on blood stained ice. It was his daily habit in the winter to fly out west over the gravel pit in late afternoon and I presume a lad with a new Christmas rifle was also at the gravel pit that afternoon and could not resist taking aim at the big white bird in the sky.
Another cold, winter day, I was horrified to see him with a huge treble fishhook hanging out of his bill. He had swallowed the line and was madly flinging the hook to and fro. The fisherman who lost this hook must have been fishing for shark. The next morning Caesar was still here and the hook was gone.
The very worst atrocity to befall him came on a lovely June morning. I saw him stretching his head high and looking up at our house as he nervously swam back and forth. I thought: "Caesar's hungry - I'll take him some bread." When I approached I saw the weirdest, amber bead stuck to his head just behind his eye and then realized it was a 6-inch long dart that protruded out the opposite side of his head. After pulling out the dart, his head and neck became so swollen that he could not swallow food and it took all summer to recover from this attack but he endured once again.
I said Caesar was hatched under a gray cloud but perhaps it was really a black cloud for his hardships were not over. In 1989 his mate of 19 years died at age 26. His anxiety was evident and he looked and called constantly, in hopes she'd answer. Finally in March of 1990, 5 Mute swans appeared on the ice for him to select a new mate. After deep concentration he selected Cleotoo and life has been on an even keel ever since. And now the inevitable is on hand: he is worn out and needs a much-earned rest. We may hear his swan song soon.
