Feathered troublemakers

Life on the farm was peaceful and serene; you could hear a dog barking from a mile down the dirt road. If I was up at the barn, in the evening, the sky was like a black velvet canvas sprayed with a billion stars. There was no city smog, no high-rise buildings and no noise from congested traffic. Just the tranquil stillness of five hundred acres of rolling hills dotted with forests that surrounded our isolated home.

Buddy and Missy came into my life as a gift from a neighbor. Two adult white Pilgrim geese. I never had a problem with them, but then I was totally unfamiliar with the stories of how mean and aggressive geese could be, so I had no fear.

A few times, while feeding all the barn animals, the geese would lower their heads, spread those massive wings and come charging at me. But I found a bump from a boot to their chest promptly cured that problem. We understood one another and formed a bond.

That same neighbor phoned one day to tell me that “my attack geese” were at her barn charging her while she was mucking stalls. I went over there and quietly called out to them. Both flew two feet off the ground arriving at my feet. I picked one up in each arm, looked at the gal and questioned, “These attack geese?” It was at that moment I realized why she had given them to me. She was afraid of them.

Each and every time the geese saw my daughter’s car pull into our long driveway it would give them pleasure to fly low and viciously pursue her. She would run from her car screaming while they’d chase her into our house. Then they’d proceed to cackle as if laughing at their accomplishment of terrifying the young girl.

I came out one morning and found Buddy limping. His webbed foot was badly injured. I surmised that one of the horses had stepped on him. I got a black trash bag. Placed Buddy, rump first, into the bag and tied the top opening around his neck. Off we drove, to the next town, with Buddy on my lap. What a sight we must have been with just his head sticking out of that trash bag.

The vet examined the foot with a concerned grave look on his face. Finally, he looked up and said, “You know Thanksgiving is next week.” I’m a little dense so I didn’t get the drift of his comment. The second time he said it I realized what he meant. To euthanize my goose. I firmly looked at him and said, “I DON’T EAT MY PETS, do you?”

Buddy got an antibiotic shot and I was told to soak his foot three times a day. I laid hay bedding in our garage and moved them up to the house. I held him in my arms while soaking that foot, three times a day, from November until February. I’d sing Christmas carols to him at each soaking.

One cold blustery winter morning I went out to feed and found the two of them were gone. Our creek ran through the Ford Proving grounds. My husband went and spoke to them, telling them about our missing geese. They drove him around for nearly two hours to no avail. Some days later Missy came home by herself. You would have thought that I lost my dog I was so upset.

As the newness of another spring was in bloom I bought Missy another mate. It was lovely seeing the two of them once again cruising across the large pond on our property. And not too long afterwards they had an addition to their family. Life was good on the farm!

Chris Roosa is a resident of Sun City Hilton Head.