Goats aren't the only hand-me-down livestock that circulates through farm communities.  Geese are another popular gift item.  Ours came from a neighbor.

Our kitchen window looks out on a pond which is on the other side of the driveway.  Geese would look great swimming there, the sales pitch said.  Geese also make efficient garden weeders, plucking up and eating the little weeds while leaving the garden plants alone.  Right.

It sounded good in theory, though, so we gave geese a try.  We doubted that they'd behave themselves in a garden with a variety of vegetables to weed among, so we never bothered to try them there.  We locked them in the strawberry patch; and although we never saw where they damaged the strawberry plants, we couldn't see where they damaged the weeds, either.

We'd had dreams of not having to hoe the strawberries any more.  As the weeds got out of hand, the forces had to be marshaled and armed with hoes.  A troop of kids and their parents descended on the patch.  Each chose a row and went to work.

Our "helpers" who were to have made this labor unnecessary turned out to be major hindrances.  They watched while we bent over and plucked weeds.  When we weren't looking, the gander lowered his head, stretched out his neck and made a beeline for the nearest backside.  A shout went up to alert the intended victim who dropped his hoe and fled with the goose beating his wings in hot pursuit.

The troops, which were already actively looking for reasons to not be hoeing in the hot sun, now had a compelling reason to look elsewhere for entertainment.  As they siphoned off, it became apparent that the strawberry patch was not big enough for both the geese and people, too.

The geese were returned to the pond.  There they proceeded to make life miserable for the other animals that had to use it.  They dominated all but two.  Geese are supposed to make good guards.  Our experience confirms this.  The pond was their territory.  Any intruders were promptly dealt with.  Cows, sheep, kids, and stray wild ducks were summarily evicted.

Efforts were made to include Annie, the Golden Lab, in the list of creatures that could be chased off.  Annie was nipped several times in these attempts, which caused her to yip, but the goose attacks only served to give her a hatred for geese.  She, thereafter, did her best to get the geese.

Annie was a strong swimmer and loved the water.  When the geese were looking unaware, Annie would slip into the water and head for them.  Swimming as fast as she could, the gap between her and her intended prey narrowed.  The geese swam as fast as they could to get away, but were slower than Annie.  With just a foot or two to go before Annie could open her mouth and take a bite, the geese were forced to turn on their auxiliary motors to put some distance between them and their foe.  Spreading their wings, they flapped and lifted their heavy bodies enough to enable themselves to "walk" on the water.  Thus gaining twenty or thirty feet, they settled back into the water to resume swimming for their lives.

Annie never gave up.  She kept up the pursuit.  Next time she'd get them.  Again the gap narrowed.  Again the birds had to try to fly.  'Round and 'round the pond they all went.  The chase would end only when Annie had done enough laps to get her exercise.

Cows were of particular concern to the geese.  All the cows wanted was a drink, but it was a battle royal to get it.  The geese patrolled their domain swimming back and forth in the middle of the pond.  When a cow approached the water's edge intent on getting a drink, down went the gander's head, out stretched his neck, and swimming as fast as he could go, he made for the cow.  The cow backed off warily as the seagoing menace approached, but backing off was entirely insufficient for the gander.  Bursting from the water, without hesitating, he charged at the cow, wings beating.  The cow turned tail and ran.

This was repeated over and over.  The smaller cows were definitely cowed, and dared not approach the water.

Yvette, the 1500-pound Holstein, was another matter.  She, too, owned the place.  When she was ready she marched confidently to the water's edge and began sucking in great mouthfuls of water.  The gander zeroed in on her, followed by his companion.  Yvette backed off at the challenge, but refused to run.  Both geese burst from the water and attacked.

It was a seesaw battle.  Yvette tried to leave gracefully, but was nipped and beat with flapping wings whenever her back was turned.  Not wanting to give in to the pesky birds anyway, she turned to fight, butting them and knocking them down.  The geese came back for more, insistent that Yvette must leave.  Yvette lowered her head and caught the female just right.  The skirmish ended with the goose limping to the pond with an injured leg from which it never recovered.

Yvette thus established superiority over the trolls that inhabited the pond.  She could thereafter drink whenever she wished merely by shaking her head at the gander.  He knew Yvette, and never attacked her again.  The Jerseys were another matter.  He still held sway over them.  The only way they were able to get their drinks was by accompanying Yvette, or by going to the pond all together.

These particular bids met their end because their presence was appreciated by no one, and because the boys had visions of roast goose.

I'd had previous experience trying to fix a goose to prepare it for roasting, and refused to have anything to do with the project.  My earlier goose plucking had taken two hours, and was not a pleasant memory.  Marjorie had visions of making a goosedown pillow and wanted the geese plucked dry and the feathers saved.

Grandpa was enlisted as the supervisor.  He instructed them how to hold the geese to chop off their heads with an axe.  Each boy tried, but could not bring himself to actually let the axe fall.  Grandpa finally had to do it himself.

Then began the tedious job of plucking the geese.  Each goose had thousands of feathers, and none came out easily.  When the boys were finally "done" the goose with the injured leg was pronounced too poor and thin to be any good.  It was buried.

The other goose looked awful.  The plucking job was incomplete.  Only several more tedious hours could make it acceptable for the oven.  That goose occupied a shelf of the freezer for several weeks before it mysteriously disappeared.

No one was sad to see the geese go.  Everyone swore that those would be the last geese this place would see.  But that had been said before.

Our previous experience with geese took place in the spring of 1982 when Matt was seven and Amy was six.  The previous year we had raised eight goslings.  They were cute little balls of down.  They were very likeable.  It was very disappointing when a raccoon helped himself to several.  One or two of the others provided me with my goose-plucking experience as I helped Margie prepare for Thanksgiving dinner.

The next spring there were three survivors—one gander and two hens.  By this time the gander had become mean, and decided that he was master of the universe.  His kingdom included the front yard, which, goatlike, he tried to move into.  I worked to keep him out, but the gander continually looked for and located other access points.

One evening, with me gone, the gander got into the yard again.  Some chores needed to be done, but everyone was afraid to go out with the goose patrolling the yard.  Several of the kids were already terrified of him.  With Margie and the kids lined up at the window, a discussion was held about what to do.  Finally Matthew said, "I'm not afraid of the goose," and marched out the door.

The goose quickly chased him back in.

Amy then announced bravely, "I'm not afraid of that goose," and went out the door.  As the goose came at her she stood her ground well, but was also forced to retreat.  She, too, was chased right back into the house, with the goose almost coming right in after her.

Next Margie said, "Well, I'm not afraid of the goose."  She didn't think he'd attack an adult.  She was mistaken.  He came at her with his head down, his neck outstretched, and with wings spread.  She said later that had the kids not been watching, she'd have run back into the house, too.

Instead, she kicked.  Her timing was good, and her kick was hard—right to the head.  The gander sat back on his tail feathers, wings stretched out full length for balance.  His head weaved 'round and 'round at the end of his snakelike neck.  As equilibrium slowly returned, he made his way back to the pond and never again came near the yard.  He had met his master.

Several weeks after this episode we finally found a neighbor who had never had geese before.  True to tradition we gave them away.  The geese were supposed to stay down on a little creek, but instead moved into their front yard where they hid in the bushes and came out whenever someone passed.  Their method of attack was to nip people's backsides.  They chased more than one visitor back to his car before the lady gave the geese to an acquaintance.