Four parents, 14 goslings.
Hard, dry, sharp stuff under tender baby feet.
This is better. Rest break.
We met this family party as they came up from the water's edge to the trail we were following; they turned in the direction we were going, out towards the open ponds and the tidal marshes. The trails are narrow, the crosroads few, and we were reluctant to pass too close, so we walked courteously behind them for a long while. This adult took up a position at the rear. As he walked, he puffed his wings out, to make himself look twice his real size, and kept bobbing his head up and down. Threat behaviour; "Touch my brood at your peril!" Not to worry, big guy.
At the first fork in the path, they went left; we went to the right. Back at the gate an hour and a half later, we met them again, having supper on the lawn.