Wednesday, August 5, 2009

those geese are more trouble than they're...

Seems that our goose problems are far from over: Iddy has learned that one can win from a goose…So yesterday she decided to give chase on old Maxilmilan, who was actually just minding his own business – for once. Maximilian fled in horror, pursued by Iddy; he somehow managed to stay out of her reach by about the length of a tail feather.

Aww, said Elvis who was soaking up a few sparse rainy season sunbeams on the front step: that’s not how it’s done! And he got away before I could get a hold of him. And sure enough, he had Maximilian crucified in the greenery faster than I could reach them. Iddy jumping up and down excitedly, yelping kill him Elvis, kill him! Don’t I yelled, and tackled Elvis by the collar , pulled him off Maxilmilan and sent him flying with an unusual, though well deserved kick in the cojones. Meanwhile, Maximilian lies prone, though no blood is visible. I pick him up by the wings, lifeless he hangs, reminding me of Swans Lake for some reason.

Iddy still tried to grab his tail feathers, I chased her off and she joined Elvis a few feet away. Meanwhile Maxilmilan hangs still lifeless in my arms. I check him, no his neck is not broken, a heart attack? I think faintly when a shifting, crunching sound underfoot gets mine and the dog’s attention. Aww, and I told and told the gardener, put some wood over that old well, instead she chose to use corrugated iron, not strong enough to bear our combined weight, all three of us jump back- fast. While the iron sheet slowly slides into the abyss and we scramble for solid ground Maxilmilan the little shit decides to wake up from his dead faint, turns his-unharmed and surprisingly agile neck and promptly bites my shoulder. Hard. Ouch! Now I am ready to kill the little monster, and the dogs know it, ‘see....’ they say and grin. ( the only reason I did not commit cold blooded murder then and there is that I do not want to give a bad example to the dogs, and besides there resides already a frozen goose in the freezer, and there is no more room for yet another. Maybe I should send an n sms through the local expat community, ‘Sunday dinner will be roast goose!’)

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