Gunder's Goose

Years ago, our family had summer places in on the east slope of the Bighorn Mountains in Wyoming.  My Uncle Joe, my Uncle Arch and my Mom all had places.  Gunder and Carol lived across the road from our place and were always good neighbors and good friends.  They had a lovely place with a little man made lake and a big two story log "cabin".   And Gunder had a flock of geese.  A small flock but geese just the same.  They looked really good paddling around the lake.  One time Gunder and Carol were going away for a week and asked my Mom if we could look out for the geese.  She, of course, said sure.  So the first morning after they left, Mother and I went over to feed the geese.  I had no great experience with geese other than they were pretty but I had kept and ridden horses since I was very young and always had cats and dogs.  I was an animal lover from the word "go".  And so I really thought nothing of it when the big male goose started toward me.  I was going to reach and pet his sleek head and neck (or so I thought).  Then I realized that was not a spark of admiration in his eye.  It was something more of a glint.  Possibly even an evil glint.  I asked my Mother if she knew what he was doing.  She looked up and said, "Well, I never.  I'd heard they do this but I never saw it before."

"SAW WHAT?!", was my instantaneous reply.  "You'd better get behind that tree," she said and moved a bit in front of the tree.  That goose now had a look of hatred gleaming from his eyes aimed straight at me and he was picking up speed.  I got behind the trees as fast as could, no more questions asked.  My Mother moved in front of the goose's path and he stopped.  Apparently the hatred he showed for me did not extend to family members.  It was personal.  Mother finished passing out the goose food and I waited behind the tree with the big goose keeping a close eye on me.  On the trip home I walked directly in front with Mom bringing up the rear so the goose couldn't get a parting shot at me.

The next day it was pretty much the same routine.  That big goose saw me and headed for me.  I got behind the tree.  Mom passed out the food while I waited, hiding, sort of.  So, why you ask didn't I just stay away?  HA and leave my Mother to the mercy of that big monster??!!  No way.  I'm not called a hard headed Swede for nothing.  I went back every day and irritated that darned goose with my presence.  We tried to wait until we saw them out on the lake so I could help Mom get the feed and stuff out before he spotted me.  But as soon as he spied me, he came in on the double.  The odd thing was that as much as that goose hated me, he would not cross the road to get me.  I was safe on our place even with the evil thing staring at me and wishing I would just cross the road.  He stayed at his own place.  I don't think Mother ever knew the mean faces I made at him when I was out in the yard.  The old termagant (the goose, that is, not my Mother).

That was a LONG week.  And I was just ever so glad to see Gunder and Carol arrive home.  They were kind of pleased that I missed them so much.  Later Mom explained to them about the goose.  I hope they weren't very disappointed.  I don't trust geese much to this day though.  I never learned of that goose's fate.  I know I had day dreams of a platter and roasted potatoes on the side.  But, knowing Gunder, it probably has a proper tombstone somewhere on the east slope of the Bighorn Mountains.

There Goes The Judge

My grandfather, A.J., was the judge in our little county seat in Iowa.  He had been an attorney who handled everything as attorneys must in rural areas.  But he did have a specialty in accretion and evulsion law which was still being developed as our county bordered on the Missouri river.  And he did have a rather good reputation in the Midwest for that specialty.  The great dams that came along later made most of that area of law irrelevant.  But in my grandfather's time it was a big deal.  My grandfather was also a Methodist and a teetotaller.  Now the law of our great land has always had a little problem with private stills.  Martinis come and go but White Lightning always seems to have it's problems and it's following.

My grandfather also followed the stills, except that he had an ax in the trunk of his big Buick Roadster.  A bootleggers blood would run cold at the sight of that big car going down his road  And Grandfather did personally go out and bust up a good many stills.  He always took the sheriff along with him to observe the proprieties.  The problem was that Grandfather didn't really trust the sheriff.  He was pretty sure that the sheriff was just a bit too friendly with some of the bootleggers.  On the occasions when A.J. had told the sheriff ahead of time when and where they would be going, they had arrived to find an empty clearing just once or twice too often. So Grandfather started showing up at the sheriff's house just a bit late for supper and saying, "Let's go!"  The sheriff had little choice but to grab his hat and go with the judge.  And down the road they would go in that big Buick.  And another still would be in pieces by dark.

So the big thing was, if you were a bootlegger in our county you tried to figure out if Effie was fixing supper early.  And if she was, you might give some real thought to moving your still.  It might not survive the evening.