Roast Goose Anyone?

When you see this picture, you may think to yourself, "Oh, what a nice little goose. How peaceful he looks just swimming along by himself."

Well, in the words of Monty Python (a personal favorite of mine): "That's no ordinary goose. That's the most foul, cruel, and bad-tempered fowl you ever set eyes on. That goose's got a vicious streak a mile wide; it's a killer!" (Yeah, yeah, I know Tim the enchanter was really talking about a rabbit--BUT if he had met this goose he would have said the same thing about this goose.)

Last Thursday night when we were renting the house on Lake LBJ, Melinda and I were dying of heat stroke so we decided it would be fun to go jump in the lake. There was a boat dock at the house and some big rocks in the middle of the lake that we wanted to swim out to. We walked down to the dock and stuck our feet in. The water was a little bit cold so we sat a while on the dock. I finally jumped in and started swimming over to the rocks.

Then, out of nowhere, this goose flew over my head and landed in the water about ten feet away, facing me. Normally, this would be no big deal, right? After all, ducks and geese are cute and nice and always so appreciative of the bread crumbs that they are fed. But this was no nice goose. This goose started swimming towards me, its neck and head low to the water, hissing. I started screaming, laughing and swimming like mad to get to the rocks and away from this goose. I really felt quite vulnerable and scared but at the same time it seemed utterly absurd that I was being chased by a goose.

Meanwhile on the dock, the crowd was going crazy. Melinda and Emma were yelling at the goose and throwing acorns, pebbles and small sticks at it to get it to leave me alone. Evan was jumping up and down, crying and screaming hysterically. Autumn was taking pictures; because whether I am murdered by a goose or not, it would make an interesting clip to watch on YouTube. Ah, the American way.

So here I am now. I finally got to the rocks. The goose was closing in. I was terrified he was going to land on top of me and start attacking. Frantically, I pulled myself up onto the rocks, cutting up my knees and arms in the process. I stood up on the rocks--now bleeding all over the place--and tore off a tree branch for protection. He finally backed off, obviously cowed by my larger size and the scary-looking bit of twig and leaves I was shaking at him.

I discovered later that there was a female goose sitting on a nest between the rocks. So I guess I should be forgiving and not hold a grudge towards this goose because, after all, he was just trying to protect his family. But you know, he could have been a little nicer. Why didn't he simply ask me to swim in a different direction? Really, he was quite rude about the whole thing. And so territorial. Like the whole lake belonged to him.

And so every time I saw the goose that weekend it was all I could do not to run and give him a good kick in the rump. If anyone has a hunting license and a hankering for some roast goose, I've got the place for you.