Dad’s Geese

I enjoy browsing Pinterest because, in my humble opinion, there are so many interesting things to see.  Recipes, inspirational quotes, crafts, you name it and you can probably find it there.

One day I was checking things out and came across this picture.  It reminded me of a story I wrote several years ago about some geese my father had.  Two vile, mean, nasty creatures that Dad thought were wonderful.


* This is what I imagine those damn birds looked like doing their happy dance after a successful surprise attack.

So here’s my tale of two geese:

One thing I remember from my childhood was that Dad always had animals of one kind or another around the house.  The only inside pets we had were a parakeet that hung itself by picking at a loose string from a nearby curtain and a monkey that we kids thought we killed.      Who Killed Dad’s Monkey?  told that story.

Dad decided he was going to get into the fur coat business so he was going to raise mink.  They were also mean, nasty creatures, but at least they were kept in cages underneath a very large hickory nut-tree in the field above the house.

We quickly learned to keep our fingers away from the cages when feeding and watering those animals.

The side yard was not flat, you had to walk up a slight hill, but to us kids it seemed like a large hill when carrying buckets of water.  That was the way we had to go to get to the mink.  This story, however, is not about the mink.  It’s about Dad’s other mean, nasty creatures that ran free around the house and surrounding field.

Two white geese.

Those birds considered that side yard their personal territory and it was cross that yard at your peril.  Between trying to avoid what seemed like huge amounts of goose poop that littered that side of the yard or the temperamental geese themselves, it was not easy navigating that part of the yard.   To make matters worse, Dad had planted a couple of goose berry bushes half way up that part of the yard and I’m sure those bushes  contributed to the birds’ rotten attitudes.

Whenever we complained to Dad about the birds, his attitude was basically “suck it up, you’re bigger than the birds”. I’m pretty sure he found a great deal of humor in our attempts at avoiding his geese.

As much as I hated helping with butchering chickens I would have gladly butchered, gutted and cleaned those geese myself.  Unfortunately, for some strange reason, Dad liked those birds from hell so butchering was out of the question.

On this particular day it was my turn to feed and water the mink.

Container of food in one hand and bucket of water in the other, I checked the yard for the birds and saw luck was with me.  The geese were no where in sight; they were somewhere else on the roughly three acres of field that surrounded the house.  I made it up to the mink, got them fed and watered with all fingers in tact, and was on my way back down to the house when I heard the honk of an angry bird.

Picking up my pace while looking over my shoulder, I saw two white heads bobbing up and down through the weeds and hay growing in the field as they came at me from above.

Luck wasn’t with me on the way down because I slipped on a patch of goose poop and went down hard on my rear end. I slid a bit further through more patches of goose poop smearing the stuff all over the back of my shorts.

Yeah, we had our own goose poop slip and slide compliments of those two damn geese.  Who knew two birds could poop so much.

By this time both birds were coming at me, necks stretched out, wings spread wide and honking like crazy as they charged at me.  Scrambling to make it to my feet, I slipped again and now I had goose poop on my hands and knees too.

I managed to get to my feet, still holding the empty water bucket and feed container, but I made the mistake of turning my back to those darn birds.

I forgot how fast they were and how long their necks were.  One of them got me on my butt, hard, and if you’ve never been bitten by a goose I can assure you it hurts like hell.  Swinging the empty bucket behind me at the birds, I braced myself for another attack while trying to avoid slipping on any more goose poop.

The full two bird attack never came.

Taking a chance, I glanced over my shoulder and was surprised to see they were just standing there looking at me.

Now I don’t know if geese can smell or taste but the only thing I could figure that stopped them from coming at me again was because my backside was covered in goose poop.  When the damn bird bit me it either caught a whiff or got a beak full of goose poop and didn’t like the taste or smell.

I had to change my clothes outside because of all the goose poop on me and then I had to rinse my clothes in a bucket of water.  Those two birds got a bath that day too when I emptied the bucket by throwing it at them.

They liked that about as much as I liked them.  I was hoping I could drown them but it didn’t work.

Dad eventually got rid of the geese by trading them for some pigeons and it’s a good thing he did.

In a prior story I told about how we killed Dad’s monkey, accidentally of course, but the geese would have been a different story.

The monkey’s demise truly was an accident but those geese would have died by murder most fowl.

*Picture found on Pinterest.

All rights reserved.  I hope you enjoyed my story but please remember it’s my story so no using or copying any content in any manner without the express written permission of the owner….me.