Life Lessons
When I was a child I had morning chores. You know I grew up on a farm, and with Daddy gone there was plenty of hard work to go around. Cows needed milking, and the crops were our bread and butter, so Mamma liked to say. One of the things I had to do before school was feed the geese. It was an adult chore, and my first real responsibility to the family. I didn’t realize it was giving me valuable life lessons at the time, but then what child appreciates hard work? My mother gleefully passed this job onto me as I started the second grade. Like a rite of passage, she walked me over to the feed bin, showed me how to scoop the food out and then go into the coop to give them their seeds. After that I was on my own.
Soon after I figured out why my mother had given up this particular task. Have you ever been around geese? They are mean sons-of-bitches. Sorry, my language...not appropriate. But they are truly horrible. For the most part over the Fall and Winter they huddled for warmth with each other, and left me pretty much well alone. If I got too close though, I would get pecked. If you’ve been to a chicken farm…? Or one of those petting zoos, maybe you’ve experienced it. It’s sharp and painful. You may have blood drawn, but not always. What I’m saying is, a chicken peck is not pleasant. It’s nothing compared to a goose.
First off, they had those long necks made entirely of muscle. They would wind back like a snake and strike hard. You had that compression behind the hit, and all in one targeted area. All the force went to one spot. It made for one hell of a bruise. Let me show you on his arm, like this. Did you see? That’s not all. They would hit me with their wings. Getting slammed by a goose’s wing was like getting hit with a bat. Ask anyone who’s been attacked by a goose, they can confirm this. We do not have much for comparison here, but I suppose my rolling pin would make a nice approximation. It’s on the shelf over the baking nook, if you would be a love? Thank you my dear.... Now there I was, this 8 year old, with a job. I couldn’t just push it off, they had to be fed every morning and that was that.
Well, I did my best until Spring came. Then I guess babies were hatching and hormones were high. All of a sudden, the one or two isolated attacks per week became five massive birds rushing me every time I headed for the pen. I’d walk in, all three feet of me, and suddenly I’d be surrounded by these birds as big as I was, getting battered and smashed when all I was trying to do was feed them. What was a child to do? One day I fled the pen.
My mother was a stern woman with no room for understanding and a penchant for repercussion. I walked in the door, red faced and full of tears. She walked over, snatched my wrist and dragged me right back. “You have to learn how to deal with difficulties, Hon,” she said. I remember her strong farmer’s hands dug into my forearm and made me whimper like our friend here. “And if you’re late for school, it’s not just the geese that will beat yer butt.” She slapped me across the face then, right here like so, in case I had any doubts of her intentions, and moseyed back inside.
Well shoot. I sat for a minute to think about my choices. Then I headed to the shed, grabbed my catchers helmet and mitt, and a ball bat. I didn’t have this good rolling pin back then. Picked it up soon after.
Thus armed, I entered the lair of the enemy once more. They rushed me and as their long white necks snaked out, I slammed their evil yellow beaks with the bat. Slam! I hit the head of one right into the dirt. The next tried to peck me and I did the same. Swinging like a knight of old, I smacked every one of those geese’s heads into the dirt. And then while they were stunned, I poured the feed and water into their dishes and sauntered out.
This happened every day that Spring. You’d think my mother would have said something, or the geese would have seen the crayon yellow bat coming and headed the other direction. But they were both stubborn and mean. Apparently, I was the only one who could learn about consequences. Not even mother learned. When a few of those geese never got up off the ground, I got that whoopin. So I stole her rolling pin while she was napping and gave her one back. She never got up either, and I told the town ‘twas the geese. Well, being an unimaginative lot, they started calling me Goose Girl.
It was hard back then to hide my anger. I had youth on my side, so that helped. But I’ve learned over time. Remember that wolf who “tried to eat us”, Child? Who would believe that a wolf would sneak into a house to eat a little old lady and impersonate her? Or that her granddaughter would be so stupid as to fall for it? Don’t be mad now, it’s better they think you’re not too bright when they’re the idiots who swallowed that story whole and begged for more. Sadly the only one who didn’t fall for it was the woodsman. Didn’t like being called the hero when he hadn’t done anything. Had to get nosey….
What shall we do next to him, child? I think my bashing days are ending, I am getting old. Perhaps the kitchen knife? We’ll bake him into pies with some blackbirds? The things your Mother Goose will teach you dear, if you just listen to my tales.