Growing up on a small farm in rural Illinois, for a few years we didn’t need a watch dog to guard the house. We had “Watch Geese”. No kidding, a pair of our geese nested in the carport. Anyone coming to the house unannounced (or worse, going into the carport looking for something to steal) was in for some trouble. The family usually got by ok because the Gander was used to us and didn’t see us as a threat unless we got too close (and we KNEW not to).
Unfortunately, one fall it all came to an end. My father needed something that was in the carport and I guess the Gander was having a pissy day because “the line” was much further from the nest than usual and the Gander wasn’t taking any prisoners. Dad got a bite on his calf, right through the knee high rubber milking boots, that knotted up the size of a softball. After that incident, the Gander was harder and harder to deal with so that Thanksgiving, we ended up having goose for dinner instead of turkey. Shame too, because watching the local ner-do-wells run for their lives from the Gander was sheer entertainment.
That reminds me of a professor in college who would model predator-prey differential equations with geese and small children in a park respectively.
😀
There’s a reason it was “Duck, Duck, Grey Duck” in Minnesota instead of “Duck, Duck, Goose”!
Growing up on a small farm in rural Illinois, for a few years we didn’t need a watch dog to guard the house. We had “Watch Geese”. No kidding, a pair of our geese nested in the carport. Anyone coming to the house unannounced (or worse, going into the carport looking for something to steal) was in for some trouble. The family usually got by ok because the Gander was used to us and didn’t see us as a threat unless we got too close (and we KNEW not to).
Unfortunately, one fall it all came to an end. My father needed something that was in the carport and I guess the Gander was having a pissy day because “the line” was much further from the nest than usual and the Gander wasn’t taking any prisoners. Dad got a bite on his calf, right through the knee high rubber milking boots, that knotted up the size of a softball. After that incident, the Gander was harder and harder to deal with so that Thanksgiving, we ended up having goose for dinner instead of turkey. Shame too, because watching the local ner-do-wells run for their lives from the Gander was sheer entertainment.
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That reminds me of a professor in college who would model predator-prey differential equations with geese and small children in a park respectively.
😀