Bought my kid a bike, got pooped on by a goose

Bought my kid a crappy bike, that is. Ah, the perils of Craiglist. Brad found an ad for a couple of small bikes, and we called, and went trooping out across the valley to look at them. They were both quite hard-used, I’m afraid – handlebars a little bent and sticking out from busted grips, filthy and/or rusted rims, non-matching and leaking tires, paint flaking from every surface. But there was another, bigger problem. They were being sold by a little boy, maybe 12 years old. You try looking a budding little salesman in the face and saying “I think $10 is too much for the first bike you ever ever owned.” Also, H, seemed to be enchanted with it. So the ten was paid and the smaller of the two bikes was carted off, direct to Kmart for some new parts. At least the seat is okay.

Tonight we were supposed to put the training wheels on, but the straightening out the handlebars, patching the front tire, and scrubbing it a bit (not done yet) took the entire evening, as it turns out. And no sanding or scraping has even yet occurred to prep it for repainting. We probably won’t come out ahead after all the required work is done. But H loves his little bike, so on we must.

While working on the bike tonight a goose that was flying over pooped on me. I thought it was just a raindrop until a minute later when I noticed the brown stuff on my arm.

Canada geese and I have an uncomfortable affinity. canada-gooseThere was the pair that nested in the planter bed a couple of years ago – this year they were deterred by the fearsome setting of a couple pieces of wood in the favored spot. I know it is the same pair because the gander is lame in his right foot. As far as I can tell, they haven’t nested this year and now I feel a little bad for asking Brad to deter them. What’s done is done, though. Anyway, you’ve heard of the aggressiveness of mama bears? Well, all I can say is I no longer believe the nom de plume “Mother Goose” to sound so benevolent.

In another strange goose occurrence, this past winter we were temporarily adopted by a goose. While playing at the park on a chilly evening, a goose flew down to the lawn and walked over to me. I spoke to the goose, of course, chatting about the weather and why it was alone and telling it where I thought it should maybe go to meet up with some other geese in case it was up for some social goose action and whatnot. It apparently listened. Because it followed us all the way home – along the sidewalk out of the park, across a busy street on the crosswalk (the drivers that stopped for us were visibly befuddled by the trailing flap-footed member of the party), all the way home. It wanted to come in the front door. I didn’t let it, but Brad and H led it around the back way to the deck. It stood outside the window and bonked its bill on the sliding glass door. We fed it some bread and crackers and gave it some water. It proceeded to beg to be let in until bedtime when I closed the curtain. Last I saw it was late that night, standing on the streambank. I believe I saw it a couple days later in the park, a lone goose who seemed to be bothering some mallards for company. But not after that. I assume it was a yearling that got separated from its group and was trying to get reoriented. I hope he/she did.

And now a goose has pooped on me, directly on me. Maybe it was one of the foiled pair, taking revenge for losing their favorite nesting spot. Maybe it was the yearling who selected me as its temporary savior saying hi. Or maybe it was just another representative from the goose world, making sure to remind me of the weird relationship between me and the whole species.

canada-goose-2(Photos lifted from Wikipedia –these aren’t my geese, but you know.  They look the same.)

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About sayingthings

K lives in the US with her man and kiddos, knits, cans, dehydrates, bakes bread, (but doesn't cook regular food, particularly), crochets, spins, gardens, studies for a degree that never seems to end, and um, works. Sometimes she wastes time online. Also -- and family, she's looking at you here -- sometimes she swears and says things you might not agree with. But she still loves you.

Posted on April 29, 2009, in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink. 2 Comments.

  1. The New Dictionary of Cultural Literacy, Third Edition. 2002.

    nom de plume
    (nom di PLOOHM) French for “pen name”; an invented name under which an author writes. ex: Mark Twain was the nom de plume of Samuel L. Clemens.

  2. You should turn this into a 4-minute goose chunk for stand-up. Just needs a couple act-outs and some parallels that are relatable.

    It’s funny that a goose followed you across a cross-walk.

    Also it’s funny that you gave the goose tips to find intraspecies-socialization.

    And you got worked over by a 12-year-old salesman!

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