I don't know if I have told you about Sweetie's chickens. Well, truthfully, they aren't really chickens, but mature Canada geese. You know, the ones that have a broad white band across their black heads, greedy beaks and beady little eyes.

The reason they come to mind right now is because at this very moment, three pairs of Canada geese are conducting the equivalent of a "goosey opera," complete with harmonies, staccato and tremolo trills right outside the boat. Not to mention the honking contralto from somewhere on the other side of the sea wall that is equal in volume and vigor to Pagliacci.

One feathered Caruoso just hopped up on the swim platform. I felt, as well as heard, the thump when he boarded. It's probably the goose Sweetie likes to call Hisser, because he does. Like the seagull I used to feed in Brisbane named Spot because he did, too. (Spot later came by with a lady gull we named Dot because she did, but not with such vigor). Anyway, that's beside the story"¦

So, this flock of Canada geese wait for Sweetie to come home. Every evening they float behind the boat waiting, just waiting for their Goosey God to arrive with his magic bag of Cheerios. Sweetie will sit on the swim platform and talk to them for a few minutes while gathering their attention. He has one goose trained to eat out of his hand, although I don't think feeding wild animals with your means of support is the very best of ideas, but it gives him pleasure, and he hasn't lost a digit yet.

The problem is that the geese have Noodles, our boat cat, and me completely buffaloed. When Hisser is waiting outside the gate, Noodles will stay inside the companionway doors. And I'm sure I felt a warm, rubbery beak touch my ankle yesterday morning, and I know for sure that he is not beyond taking an advantageous peek if I happen to be wearing a skirt. Sometimes Hisser will be standing on the end of our finger pier when I get home. It's definitely a standoff moment, but size is in my favor, and that combined with a deep "NO!" will usually suffice, but not without comment once he is back in position behind the stern.

I don't really mind the geese; we have always fed the birds where ever we lived. We've fed hummingbirds and quail in Napa, sparrows and doves in Menlo Park and seagulls in Brisbane. Heck, I sometimes carry a bucket of birdseed and scatter a handful whereever I park. But Sweetie gets carried away, and the birds get carried away, and the next thing you know, the gulls have come and they are screaming for their share, and then the neighbors are complaining to the harbormaster, who tells us it's time to stop. YOU try to explain that to a gaggle of hungry geese.

So, that's where it stands now. The geese are still waiting for the Dinner God who arrives but no longer provides. I think he might even be the subject of their opera.

In a way, Sweetie is a lucky guy. I guess it's kind of nice to have someone glad to see you when you come home, even if it is only a silly goose and a giddy old gal.