It’s everywhere: backyards and barnyards, parks, playgrounds and putting greens – 91 million pounds of excessive excrement, deposited annually for our enjoyment by Ohio’s resident Canada geese population. In spite of our constant consternation, our avian adversaries actually have it pretty good. Ohio graciously provides green space for foraging and nesting, water for drinking and swimming and no natural predators. More importantly, our feathered foes have the blessing of the state.

 

While searching for pertinent facts on goose feces (no, I don’t make this stuff up), I discovered that wildlife officials want Ohio to accommodate a minimum of 60,000 geese. I’m no wildlife biologist, so I trust there are good reasons for that number. But Ohio is home to 140,000 of the burdensome birds. I’m OK with a target minimum, but shouldn’t it come with a target maximum?

 

Our problems extend beyond geese. According to the Ohio Division of Wildlife, Ohio’s deer herd has exploded, from around 400,000 10 years ago to 700,000 this year. Since the early 1990s, squirrel numbers have doubled, and there’s been a five-fold increase in bears and similar trends for bobcats, coyotes and other critters with really sharp teeth.

 

There are costs associated with this overabundance. Squirrels, raccoons and their fellow pests dig, scrape, eat and otherwise damage homes and yards to the tune of $8.3 billion per year. Deer-car collisions require $1.6 billion in annual auto repairs. Crop and livestock losses are painfully innumerable.

 

More serious are the average 29,000 injuries and 200 deaths nationally caused each year by vehicles hitting deer. In 2007, Ohio alone had 26,304 deer-car collisions, 1,024 injuries and 10 fatalities. It’s not necessarily safer in the air. Approximately 8,000 civilian planes have encounters with geese and other birds each year. Flight 1549’s landing on the Hudson was miraculous; many don’t end so well.

 

Besides my research into goose droppings, I also looked into some solutions. Tellingly, when I Googled “preventing wildlife damage,” the majority of what I found were suggestions on how I could spend money or change my lifestyle to adapt to the critters. We’ve somehow decided that humankind’s quality of life and economic well being is less important than putting reasonable limits on wildlife numbers. A high-ranking wildlife official lamented that when it comes to managing animal populations, “it’s no longer about carrying capacity, it’s about social-political capacity,” which means we’ve allowed the science of wildlife management to be overtaken by emotional people yelling loudly. Interestingly, we don’t apply our animal ethos equally. We’re appalled by disturbing headlines about hoarded pets, crammed into inadequate space, and we wonder how anyone could let their love of animals get so out of hand. It’s a good question, not just for the eccentric “cat lady,” but also for ourselves.

 

At some point, someone is going to solicit your vote or your money with the question “Do you love nature’s furry creatures or not?” Of course you do. But there’s no shame in responding with both your heart and your head. Because sometimes, what’s good for the goose, or the gander, is not good for you.

 

John C. (Jack) Fisher, Ohio Farm Bureau Federation executive vice president