From the Journal Gazette

Hurshtown Reservoir, about a mile and a half north of Grabill, was built in 1969 as an emergency 1.8 billion-gallon water supply for Fort Wayne, just in case the St. Joseph River ever dried up.

The river has never dried up, so for the 40 years the reservoir has never really been used. The occasional fisherman, windsurfer or person with an urge to row a boat (outboards are forbidden) does show up but not very many.

People who live just a stone's throw away say they have never visited the place, which is open to the public in the summer, for a fee.

In a way, the lack of visitors is good. It keeps the 260-acre pond from getting trashed, and the atmosphere is practically silent, dead silent. So silent that employees occasionally unplug the Pepsi machine at the visitor center. It makes too much noise.

One group of creatures, though, does use the reservoir. Every fall, injured geese, wounded by hunters, make it to the reservoir. It becomes, for them, a final refuge from flying lead and a peaceful place to die.

Except for one bird named Buckshot. Last November, Buckshot, much of its right side blown away by a hunter, made it to the reservoir. Its right eye was shot out, and its right wing was broken and useless.

City utility worker Rich Gerke, who visits the reservoir every day as part of his job, first noticed the bird. It couldn't walk on dry land because its wing, shattered and hanging limp, would drag on the ground. The goose would step on it and trip.

The bird could swim, but its wing dragged in the water, causing the goose to swim in circles.

Despite its wounds, the bird somehow survived, eating grass and anything else it could find.

Summer came and other geese that winter at the reservoir left, but Buckshot remained. It preened the feathers off the shattered wing that drags in the water so it's not as effective as a rudder. Now, the bird manages to make its way around much of the reservoir, which has a shoreline of about three miles.

Meanwhile, park employees started feeding the bird corn.

The other day, two or three other geese landed at the reservoir and sat with the injured bird for a couple of hours. They just sat there and didn't move, reservoir employee Tim Roach said.

Officials with the Indiana Department of Natural Resources said the humane thing to do would be to shoot the bird and put it out of its misery, but park employees said no way. Anything that's tough enough to survive a shotgun blast and survive the winter alone deserves to keep trying.

One visitor, who has been watching the bird, even went as far as to take photographs and talk to his veterinarian about what could be done, perhaps whether the wrecked wing, which just hangs there, could be removed. Those are just ideas, though.

It's September now, and the park will be closing in a few weeks. Whether anyone will continue to feed the bird corn is a big question. Whether the bird will be able to survive another winter is another question.

"This is where it's hard to decide what to do," Gerke says.

Maybe letting nature take its course is as good an idea as any. It certainly has as good a chance of surviving the next winter as it did the last. At least it's healed now.

Regardless, the bird won't be alone. When winter comes, geese tend to settle in the place. The people are gone, and they seem to know there is no hunting there.

"He (or she) has lots of friends in the winter," Gerke says.