{Are You Gonna Eat That}? The Goose is on the Table

Gavin and Giselle were geese. Branta canadensis, Canada geese, to be accurate in naming their genus and species. “Canada” was a polite fiction, like the sticker price on a car in the showroom. They hadn’t left Ohio their whole lives. Now it was time for another gaggle of goslings, and this year they birthed five: Gussie, Gigi, Godfrey, Guy, and Gavin Jr.

Gavin and Giselle were caring parents and knew they had to teach these five to fly. As the summer wore on, the goslings grew and were ready for flight lessons.

One day, they left Haskell Retention Pond No. 2 and flew south across busy Interstate 90. Instinct guided them not to land on the highway lest they all immediately become paté. They flew on and found a yard in East Cleveland. Old man Gunderson was sitting in his front room when he spied the gaggle and reached for his shotgun that he kept under his good chair. Times were tough and among Fat Gavin, Portly Giselle, and the five young’ns, he calculated there’d be 35, maybe 40 pounds of good eatin’ bird.

Gunderson hadn’t moved this fast since thwarting last winter’s attempted burglary. He ran full on at the birds, backing them toward his fence so they couldn’t take off. He was a good shot, and the blood and feathers stopped flying just a few seconds after the killing spree ended.

Fry up some collard greens and mix up a batch o’ cornbread. There’d be goose aplenty for the next church supper.