Goose Times.





My father's father gave me a goose for Easter when I was ten years old. My grandfather knelt down by me on the just-turning green grass and slipped the soft-feathered baby from his jacket. He pulled my hand towards the baby forcing the baby to smell my hand. He covered the baby's eyes with his other hand. "He thinks you are his momma, now." 

Riley I named him. Riley followed me everywhere well into my 7th grade school year. He would stand on our back porch and screech and flap and screech and flap for me to play with him. He knew the time of day when I would get home from school. He stood in the middle of the road and flapped and flapped with joy as I rounded the bend walking or by bicycle. He stood guard for me as I dropped my school books and grabbed a snack to eat. Many a day, my mom would ask me to call Riley from the road so kids could walk on by to their homes. Our German Shepherd never posed a problem when family, friends, or strangers popped into visit. Riley, however, chased them right up the road. 

You're asking what became of Riley? The spring of my 7th grade year, another goose could be heard squawking in the pasture nearby. I woke one morning to find the back porch empty of my feathered pal. I could hear Riley in the pasture a hooting and a hollering with his new found female friend. My heart patters even today thinking of Riley . . . his trust, his friendship, his protection, his affection. 

Goose times with Riley.