Carl

I am an only child. I'm generally a quiet person. I'm not good at talking to people. I'd rather be by myself than interacting with a group because it gets exhausting. That's the curse of being an introvert. Being alone is great but sometimes it's nice to have someone next to you.

I had friends in high school. We still keep in touch. For some reason I didn't hang out with them much outside of school. I wanted to go to parties, meet guys, have the whole "Sixteen Candles" experience. I just didn't, not as much as the average high school kid at least. I had something else you don't see in a John Hughes film. Something I hold very close. Something that inspired me to write a trilogy. Here's the true story.

If you don't know the story of Gustav, just take a glance at it over here. 

That whole soap opera of a life event hit me hard. It was the regret that got me. I felt like because I was such a chicken and couldn't talk to him I missed out on a required high school experience. Life Event Failed: Unable to obtain high school relationship. I listened to a lot of Emo songs and sat by the lake next to my home moping and wondering if there was a point to my life.

^ Me at the age of 15 being hormonal and sad because I felt forever alone ^

Shortly after the Great Gustav Fiasco of 2005, I achieved something better.

It was quite the sight to see. A little spooky too. They were nearly invisible flying around the white sky. They were hard to keep track of even with the low hum of their wings.

We had seven swans on the lake. Then five. Then three.

Only one stayed.

That's "Goose" by the way. I could always spot him in a gaggle because of the patch of yellow gosling feathers he never grew out of. He always looked so surprised. Even without eyebrows he had a personality. He was very curious and liked to peer into our windows to see if I was home.

One day someone decided to come by for a visit and see why all the geese on the lake constantly swam in and out of the same channel every day. (Because I was there and I had food, doy.)

See the look on the swan's face? That's the look of pure cockiness right there.

This swan was majestic. It was like watching an angel glide across the water. He had grace. The water glistened upon his wings like diamonds. He was curious, watching my every subtle movement. 

He was also a dick. 

He knew he was King Shit of the lake. He owned the place.

Goose has that look of "Don't mess with that thing. Swans have been known to break arms and kill babies."

I would toss him a piece of bread and he would just stare at it. He had no idea what to do with it, a sure sign he was a wild beast. All waterfowl know bread and crackers. They recognize the hand motions us humans do to toss food. (Seriously, just wave your hand at a goose like you're about to throw a piece of bread. Their reaction is priceless.)

Yet he came back every day. I think he just liked observing me. Being the feathered, wild mustang he was, I was a weird looking animal he had never seen up close before. And the channel by my house was well hidden, quiet, and safe.

It took him a few days and watching the geese to understand, "Oh, I can eat the shit this girl is throwing at me. She's not trying to pelt my with rocks."

Goose and I went about our business. I sketched, did homework, mumbled back and forth with Goose talking about who the hell knows. He was most likely asking me when the hell Dicky McFloof-face would leave us alone.

Well, Dicky McFloof-face must've overheard our shit talking because one day he got really brave.

He stepped onto the land and into my territory. He was making it known he now owned land and sea.

Goose stayed behind me hissing in a panic. It was his only defense against the brute stomping closer and closer to us.

He had no sense of what "personal space" was. His wings were huge, his chest was out; he was trying to show dominance over me. I was to be his slave in his lakeside kingdom. I would be the monkey to his organ grinder.

And I was not about to let that shit fly.

I defended myself with sticks and pencils a few times against this winged asshole

and every time he had this look on his face as if saying "You struck me?! ME?!" He was perplexed and angry and... well... just didn't know what to do about it.

Thus a respect was born.

I think he was impressed with me. I stood up to the big bully swan.

Well, kind of a respect. He still made sure he was in power by way of untying my shoes and biting holes in them. Or he just liked playing with them.

He was definitely head of the waterfowl syndicate. He knew everything that went on in his waters and my house was headquarters. I figured if he was going to be hanging around every day I should probably give him a name. 

But what? 

It couldn't be just any old name. He was graceful on water but stumbled over his feet on dry land. He played off as being this strong, majestic brute when really he was goofy playful little bird. He liked teasing the geese but was deathly afraid whenever my dog came out to take a pee. He would hiss and cower behind me with his wings spread out.

The name finally presented itself one afternoon while I was watching "Big Fish".

It was the perfect name for a scary looking giant who was secretly a kindhearted doof. (The playful kind of doofy. Not insulting intelligence in anyway.)

Carl.

We hung out almost every day. I would sketch and take a billion pictures of him. He was always such a ham whenever the camera was out. Unless I was filming. He hated when I recorded him. He gave me a few bruises on my knees to make sure I knew that.

And he loved when I rubbed his neck and his belly. Feathers would go flying.

He even brought his family over one summer. Swans, especially Mute Swans are extremely territorial when it comes to their family. Males get aggressive and attack boats, people, animals, anything that gets too close to the nest or the babies.

Here I was two feet in front of a cygnet defying all laws of nature. Of course Carl and his mate (I named her Nessie) were cautious and never lost sight of me, but they never attacked.

Don't believe me? Here's the real picture.

From left to right: Carl, his offspring "Fuzz" and Nessie.

Their visits in summer were limited because it got too overgrown in the channel.




It took Goose some time before he warmed up to Carl. 

That all changed the one spring. Around nesting season I've seen mateless geese try to steal other nests by sitting on the eggs while the mother is out getting food or exercise.

Goose, his mate, and Carl were on the shore with me when a few "invader geese" swung by. Goose wasn't having any of that. He tried to chase them off but a fight broke out.

Carl turned, casually got in the water, and swam up to the brawl. He got in between them and started slapping the invaders. Goose made a break for it to the shore.

It was the weirdest thing: a swan protecting a goose nest. Carl floated in the channel until the invaders were gone and the mama goose could get back to her eggs. After that, Goose wasn't so afraid of his new bouncer friend and they became partners in crime.

I felt like the Jane Goodall of waterfowl. I could communicate with them, send out the right call across the water to alert them of intruders. Goose would arrive followed by Carl (which was usually enough the scare off the unwanted guests). I was accepted into their flock. You're probably thinking, "They just hung around because you had food." Even on the days I didn't bring anything, we still hung out. Goose would stand on the hill keeping watch while Carl bit more holes in my shoes and I preened his wings.

Heck, April 2006, we had a bad hurricane. The lake flooded. When they had nowhere to go, Carl and Nessie came to my house. I'm positive they lost the nest and their eggs. The look in their eyes said it all. I still remember sitting out in the rain so they would feel safe enough to sleep.

Here's Nessie from Flood Day.

We were a family and we had each other's backs.

Which is why when I was accepted into a college in Florida, saying goodbye was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do.

There's a man by the name of Doug Seus. I'm sure you've heard of him. He's an animal trainer who works with bears. He is best known for working with a nine and a half foot Alaskan Kodiak named Bart. Sadly, Bart the Bear passed away in 2000 from cancer. In a documentary, Seus describes Bart's death to losing his best friend and his soul mate.

That's the best way I can describe the bond I had with this swan. With Carl.

This is where it gets more personal.

It wasn't just about putting some dick swan in his place and tossing crackers to a bunch of geese by a lake. This was my escape from the world. This is what got me through high school heartbreak. When my family went through losing a loved one, I had the lake. I had Carl. He was there on the days I didn't want to go inside and face the family drama. He was there to make me forget time existed. I felt lonely, Carl would arrive. I was sad, he would come swimming up through the channel. Call him my "therapy swan".

Creative minds too often suffer from mental illness and mine arrived when I was about twelve years old. I've had anxiety all my life but these were the years I needed help. I was turning into more and more of a hypochondriac. I realized my own mortality, that one day I wouldn't live in this same house and I would be old and withered. I questioned what I was doing with my life (I still am and now I know that that is something everyone asks). Carl made me forget all that. He kept the panic attacks at bay. He helped me cope with a lot of things. Without him, I think my high school experience could have taken a dark turn.

May 16th, 2007 was the day I said goodbye. It was Wednesday, the day before I went to Montreal to see the premiere of Cirque du Soleil's latest show "Kooza".

I had a few crackers leftover from feeding Goose a little earlier in the day. Carl swam by so I figured I'd give the rest to him before heading out to my art show. I explained the situation and I swear to God, he understood.

All I needed was my Walkman to play the soft melody of "Goodbye May Seem Forever" from that awful moment in "The Fox and the Hound".

Three years knowing this bird, of course I talked to him. The same way you tell your dog about your day. I told him how I was going away for the weekend. I told him about going to college and how I would be busy packing in the summer. I expected him to go about his business with deaf ears, gnaw at the growing holes in my shoes, pinch my leg to make me give him more food. He didn't. He was still as a statue the whole time I spoke to him. He listened.

I thanked him for coming into my life. I said I would try to come back and visit. I said I loved him and the geese and the lake and I would miss every bit of it.

It went quiet. He got up, went into the water and swam through the channel glancing back about three or four times. That was the end.

Cirque du Soleil frustrates me when they steal my ideas but I think that anger stems from this day. I felt like I just put my dog down. I felt like Doug Seus losing Bart the Bear. I felt like Widow Tweed leaving Tod in the forest. I lost a best friend. I lost what kept me on the ground. I lost my escape and it took everything in me to convince myself there was a reason I had to go to school in Florida. There was something there for me. This was going to be my chapter two of life. A life without geese or Carl or the lake.

And I absolutely hated it.

I call my college Azkaban Prison because it felt like I would never be happy again. Yes, I made friends there and they're absolutely amazing people that I'm glad I got to spend time with. I couldn't have graduated without them.

The whole time I kept trying to find that escape. Something similar to the lake. Someone to keep me grounded like Carl did. Someone to go to when I didn't want to be anywhere else.

I started writing stories as a way to get myself to move on. Those stories evolved into a 400 something page novel which later had a sequel which later became a trilogy. I'm very proud of them and they really did help. There was still something missing though.

If there's one thing I know how to do, it's waiting. I was taught at a very young age that good things come to those who wait. Good things are easy. It's the best things that are the worst to wait for.

I had to wait for 2010 to arrive and show me the reason I went to Florida.

Ok ok, he didn't call me babe until a year later.

I was single because I had issues and I was crazy.

He said "I love you" after we only knew each other (outside of Farmville) for three days. That's ok though. In the same night he made me cry like an idiot because he had to leave.

He was Mr. King Shit. Mr. Confident-I'm-In-The-Navy-I'm-Awesome-Look-At-Me. He was a show off when I first met him. And once I got to know him.....

He was the biggest goober I had ever met.

Sound familiar?

You know the story from here.