Tuesday, January 11, 2011
Friday, December 17, 2010
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Is that not funny? I love it! Goose is later pate.
"... I descended the porch steps, preparing to leave. A big white bird waddled up the flagstone path to meet me. Too fat for a swan, too white for a turkey, it was, I deduced, a goose.
'Hello, Goose,' I said, walking toward it.
The goose took exception to this, flapped its wings violently, and honked. I backed up. This was a mistake. The goose lunged at me, enraged, honking and hissing. I turned to get out of its way and stumbled over a rosebush, and the goose was on me, pecking my calf through my painter's pants. This hurt a lot more than one would think. I became a little enraged myself, and more than a little scared, and tried to kick the bird. As I was wearing Keds, the damage would've been minimal, but in any case, I missed. The goose came at me again. I swung at it with my backpack, missed again, and with my right hand slapped at it, connecting slightly. Then I turned and ran.
The goose, affronted by the slap, intensified its demented honking and came after me. We ran around to the back of the house, and I spotted the garage. It was a six-car garage, with five cars in residence. I jumped into the back of a pickup truck, a Toyota Tundra, and ducked.
I've been in some undignified situations in my life, but hiding from poultry was a low watermark. It worked, though. The goose gave a few more honks, but they lacked conviction. It must have seen me jump into the truck, but either geese have short memories or it felt I'd conceded the fight, because it waddled off toward the house. I know this because I peeked."