This is me and a friend, chatting via instant messenger:
Me: Some goose has been in the garden, being loud, for an hour!
Friend: Everybody needs more goose.
Me: The loud goose has five goslings!
I think that qualifies as “more goose.”
Beneath the clamour of the adult goose, the quiet peepings of the goslings went undetected. I nearly shut the window against the loud goose, and missed the goslings entirely.
And this is a gosling:
I hope that tetchy old git, Mr. Dolgonosov, doesn’t see the goslings. I don’t trust him not to stamp on them, or kick them into the bushes. I’ve seen him harassing birds, in the garden. I know he’s up to no good. I wish I had a Super Soaker, so I could squirt him from afar, if I caught him getting up to no good. (Would that count as assault? I wonder….)
Everybody was coming out on their balconies, or into the courtyard, photographing the goose family, videotaping it. The goose didn’t seem to mind; indeed, it seemed rather proud of what it had done. It paraded its goslings round in circles, till everyone had got a good look.
(The gulls can stay away, even if they’re not capable of swallowing a gosling. This morning, they were round earlier than ever. Five o’clock, and there they were, bawking up a storm, on my balcony. Stupid birds. Don’t they realise I wouldn’t wake up if they didn’t scream? Then, they could eat everything in the feeder, without fear of shooing.)