Hellebores and snowdrops are beginning to peep and Sam the gander is already anticipating spring, running at the dogs, hissing on the end of his outstretched neck. We’ve learned from past experience to keep the geese separate from other fowl at this time, as Sam’s violent rushes of testosterone have provoked bloody murder. The children take care to avoid him, but he’s never had a go at me yet, and still pecks corn from my palm, albeit with a little too much vigour.
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