Rambolina: Part One
In the past few months. I have written a couple of columns telling you about the perils of this city girl who moved to the quiet solitude of the country. This week is another chapter dealing with my on-going perils of trying to tame the wild. Now having no expertise in taming the wild. I do believe that sooner or later these critters are going to tame me. The wooley critters still manage to find a way out- of the pasture and into the garden. (we have the shortest corn stalks and the fattest sheep in Weld County). At least five times a week I have to chase these critters back where they belong. Now there has been a new twist to who does the most chasing around our house. Lately everytime I get close to the barn, I am chased by “Mother.” the cantankerous goose has turned into “Rambolina.” the frustrated attack goose. This dear old bird has decided that it is great barnyard fun to see how fast dear old Mom can run toward the safety of the house while she is in hot pursuit.
It all started when “Mother” decided to raise a family. Now you have to commend the old girl for for being so domestic, but there was one problem that she obviously wasn’t aware of…we don’t have a papa goose. I suppose she might have been orphaned at an early age, so her mama didn’t tell her about the birds and bees. She didn’t know that you might not have to get married, but you do have to have at least a serious involvement before you can have a string of goslings following you around the barnyard. She built her nest, laid her eggs, sat down and started planning for her kids college education. She sat and sat and…sat some more with no results. The longer she sat the meaner she got, just like it was someone elses fault that her eggs didn’t hatch. Finally when Mr M decided that she had sat on three rotten eggs long enough, he took the eggs away from her. This is when she really got ticked off at me. I don’t know why she picks on me. I only married Mr Mr. I certainly don’t look like him and I wasn’t the one who messed up her family plans…he did. Now everytime I go outside to the trash dumpster. I have to arm myself in defense against the Weld County Champion attack goose. Other than her frustration of seeing her family plans go down the drain before they got started, the only other reason I can think of for her nasty behavior is possibly..goose menopause. I have thought about calling the local drugstore and asking if they have goose strength Lydia Pinkham tonic…maybe that would help the old girl through her tough times.
If all else fails I have a fool proof plan in mind. I have decided to scare her nasty attitude toward me, out of her. My plan is to go into the house, arm myself with a broom and my book and then calmly walk out to the cabbage patch pool that she is always swimming around in and read old “Rambolina” her rights…The Better Homes and Gardens recipe for roast goose. I have a feeling that when I get to the part about one plucked goose, and one half hour per pound in a 325 degree oven, I had better be prepared to hightail it back into the house as fast as my little old legs will carry me.
