Getting Your Goose

The other night my wife left the house and later texted “There’s a duck in the driveway. I think it’s injured”. Immediately my mind went to the ingredients of Peking Duck. Did I have them? Is it iceberg lettuce? I have that. Either way, the new air fryer might work out well.

So I went outside and there’s a damn goose standing there. I don’t like them and they don’t like me. My golf ball once happened to land between a goose mom and a gooseling, and I had to play it because it was a tournament. That didn’t work out well. It chased me all up the fairway honking and nipping at my ass.

That said, I walked up to it and, of course, it didn’t like that. It moved away from me at about the same speed I was walking. Unfortunately, that was into the street, and there’s always oncoming traffic, and it was dark, and it wasn’t wearing one of those reflective safety vests. Also, the goose was clearly too big for the air fryer, so that plan was out.

So then I held up traffic and shooed it across the road. At this time, my wife got home and was yelling “Can you call the police?” from the garage, across the street from me and the goose.

“What?” I said. “Why would I call the police? To ticket him for jay walking?”

“It’s injured,” she replied.

I said “It’s not injured…it’s lost. It lost its flock.”

“Well they need to get it back to the flock.”

I asked, “How the hell is anyone gonna know which flock it is? Can they just join up with any flock they come across?”

My duty done, I went back inside. My wife had called the cops herself, and reported, unsurprisingly, that they cant do anything unless the goose is injured. She told them that they would be coming anyway because it will soon be injured, standing in the road like that without a vest. I laughed and replied “Great…now the local police will know you as the crazy goose lady. Call the humane society if you’re worried.”

“I’ve got bigger fish to fry” she said.

I said, “Yeah…you have a whole goose if you want it.”

So then I looked outside and the damn thing was indeed in the road again. So back out I went and shooed it right up onto the neighbors porch, then rang the doorbell and fled.

I’d say the neighbor’s goose is cooked now. And, as I always say, “What’s good for the goose is good for the gander.”

Later that night, in bed, my wife sat up and said “I think I just heard the goose outside. It was probably hit.” I sighed and got up and looked…no roadkill. “The goose is fine.”

And that was that. Another exciting night in the suburbs. I said no to an engagement in the city for this, and …I am fine with it. I’d rather deal with geese than those people.

Epilogue

The next morning my wife texted me one line:
“I am sure the goose is dead.”