Along comes his pal, Cliff, and a feeding circuit ensues, casual nibbling. Both Angel and Cliff suffer a brief goosing from Elaine and carry on nibbling (more a series of quick grab-and-nips). Angel, as it happens, is exactly the shape and weight of a second-hand vacuum cleaner, a Bissell, I bought in Calgary years ago.
(That spur at the back of his foot, by the way, is where the attachment hooks into the body of the Bissell.)
He's feeding in the shade now, though his notice of things like shade, rain, or wind operates so deeply it has no effect on surface behaviours. No Gee, it would be great to stay in bed today or Better bundle up. Just carry on. Oops, another goose--I didn't catch the name, Julian was it?--passes a bit too close. A half-goosing is enough to run him off. Angel resumes feeding.
I've seen Angel take a few steps and stand by himself facing the lake. Or maybe it's me I've seen do that, as if sizing up the time ahead. But now Angel steps to the edge of the pond and extends his neck to drink. He lifts his head all the way up to tip the water down.
I don't know what Angel has for ears but he seems aware of sirens coming from across the ravine. And of course when I say hello, he nods, like the good neighbour he is.