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.



I have permission from the young man in question to use his name for this story but I think I’ll keep him anonymous, at least for now.

It was a very rainy, windy, chilly Sunday and Hubby, who hadn’t been feeling well for a couple of days, decided he needed to visit the Emergency Department at our local hospital because his symptoms weren’t getting any better.   So off we go and I’m fully expecting to be spending several hours waiting.  Surprisingly, that wasn’t the case and we were taken in to an examination room almost immediately.

A certain 15 year-old young man we know volunteers in the ER Department at this hospital and he happened to be volunteering this particular Sunday.   I saw him before he saw us and watched the smile brighten his face when we walked in and then leave his face when he realized we were there for a reason.  He followed us into the exam room and Hubby  assured the staff it was alright.  He watched as Hubby was put through the process of evaluation, EKG, blood draws, needles inserted, concern about Hubby evident.  I assured him it would be fine.

I asked him about his day and he said it had been kind of boring but he shared a few things that he had done, rather pleased that he now knew his way around and specifically where the lab was so he could take samples there as needed.  He then left us to take Hubby’s blood samples to said lab.

When he returned to the ER Department he came back to Hubby’s room.  I asked him more questions about his volunteer duties and he was happy to tell us all about his responsibilities.   Some of  his other duties included changing bedding and wiping the beds down then replacing linens, including pillow cases, giving us a demonstration of his abilities as he explained.

Putting a pillow in a pillow case is simple right?  Well not if the pillow has a tendency to stick so I showed him how I was taught when I went to Learn Practically Nothing School many years ago.  He liked what I showed him saying it was much easier than his method.  Hubby called it the hand sock method.

Food is something that is always a topic of interest to a teenage male so of course he had to tell us what he had for lunch.  That day it was meatloaf from the hospital cafeteria.  We had it on good authority that the meatloaf was really good but not the gravy.

He was standing there, happily chatting away  when suddenly Hubby asked what that awful smell was.  Our young visitor started laughing and that was the only clue we needed.

“You didn’t, did you” Hubby asked him and our young visitor just laughed harder as he started moving towards the door to exit the room.

“No, don’t move, hold still, don’t move” Hubby told him but he kept moving towards the door which meant the invisible, noxious, anal odor followed in a trail behind him, permeating further into the room.  IT WAS BAD.  I think that walk to the lab stirred something up.



“I hope that meatloaf tasted better than it smells” I said which only kept  him laughing harder.

“I can’t believe you dropped a SBD” I told him and  by the look on his face I knew he had no idea  what I meant.

“Silent but deadly” I explained and by this time we are all laughing.  I will admit it took my mind off the reason for our visit to the ER and  helped eased the tension I was feeling.  I wouldn’t recommend this as a regular means of easing tensions in the ER though.


At this point his….a nurse entered Hubby’s room from the door on the other side of the  room, coming in behind our young Volunteer and walking right smack dab into the odor.

“Oh (name omitted) no, you didn’t” she says and also immediately starts laughing.  I actually think she recognized the scent as soon as it hit her in the face.  I mean,  I saw her wave her hand in front of her face as she backed out of the room the way she entered, obviously not wanting to stir the air any further and spread the toxic waste out into the hallway.  It would have decimated everyone at the Nurses’ Station and we needed them to help Hubby.

She returned in a flash with a can of scented air spray, finger on the nozzle as she re-entered the room, waiving the can all around and quickly clearing the room of all foul lingering emissions.   All of us were able to breathe easier.    It worked and luckily before anyone else entered the room saving them from the remains of hospital cafeteria meatloaf.  She was a hero and no one at the Nurses’ Station would ever know it.

“Stay away from that meatloaf” I told our young Volunteer as he and his…..the nurse left us, still laughing I might add.

“That was definitely a (family name) ass” I told Hubby.  “Yeah” he answered, wiping tears from his eyes.

I’m not sure if they were tears of grandfatherly pride or his eyes were still stinging from the fumes.

Hubby recovered from that episode, suffering no long-lasting effects from his exposure to recycled hospital cafeteria meatloaf.   Hubby’s other issue was dealt with and he was able to return home for recovery.



I believe someone should warn the hospital staff about that meatloaf so they’re aware  how potentially dangerous it can be to their noses.

I decided to protect the identity of the young man in this story and I did a fine job of it if I do say so myself.  This is social media after all and everyone reads everything here.  And I believe his school is safe as long as meatloaf isn’t on the menu.






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.




Look Ma, No Hands

Grandchildren are delightful creatures.  No matter how miserable your day is going, when they show up at your door or call you on the telephone the day has just gotten better.  Now that my grandkids are getting older and very electronic savvy instant messaging counts too; Grandma just has to be able to keep up with them.

They see the world through young, unbiased eyes and share that delight with you.

The other day my youngest 3-year-old grandson was spending the day with me and we were watching “his show” which is the BabyTV channel.    I make it a point to talk to him about what he is watching be it numbers, colors, nature segments, shapes, etc.   Grandma Monkey came on and was teaching her Grandson Monkey about other monkeys that happened to have tails.

“Do you have a tail” I asked GR#7.   “Nope” he answers, “I have a pee pee, do you have a pee pee Grandma”?   How can you not smile?

My grandkids are getting older and in November #4 will join the ranks of teenager.  They don’t do or say the wonderful, funny and sometimes inappropriate things they used to when they were younger.  They also don’t always share everything with me as they did when they were younger and I miss that.

Like the time one of my grandsons told me that he discovered when he blew on their dog’s butt she would lick it.

“Why did you have your face at the dog’s butt” I asked him.

“She had hair hanging from there” he told me.

When I was able to stop laughing I suggested that perhaps he should think of a better way to remove hair from that area of the dog.  Later, I thought about our conversation.  I could see where that would sound reasonable to a 10-year-old.  I can remember blowing hair out of my eyes.  Truth be told he probably just didn’t want to put his hand near the dog’s butt.  Face is ok but not the hand.  I understand.

I remembered the time I was walking our Boxer for bathroom reasons.  He squatted to do his duty and then I noticed something hanging from his butt.  It was one of my knee-high stockings that he obviously thought would make a great snack.

He kept turning around in a circle trying to dislodge the stocking but he couldn’t shake it free.  It took me a moment to figure out how to help him since there was no way I was using my hands.  I told him to sit, I put my foot on the stocking and then turned him loose.  Problem solved without using hands or blowing on his butt.

This same grandson likes to watch television with the closed caption on.  When I asked him why his answer was simple.  “The book’s always better than the movie”.

Grandchildren are good for the soul.



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.