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  • Julie


In the middle of winter a few years back, Gus and I came upon four human-kept geese toddling down our road. And as circumstances relating to livestock, icy roads, and unspeakable temperatures demand, their humans were absent from this thrilling walkabout. It wasn't the first time we had seen them out, nor the last, and eventually they disappeared altogether, an outcome certainly related to their wanderings, whether from predation or human exasperation I'm unsure, but it was that particular day while playing Locate That Human! that I realized: I love geese. I'm a goose person.

A Goose Person.

But having regretfully entangled myself with marginally beneficial fowl before (guineas, ducks, Polish frizzle chickens, etc.), I sat on the newfound revelation. I thought, oh when I'm old, I'll get myself a few geese.. But the thing about being goosey is this: one cannot put it on hold for a time when. I imagine if you are goosey, you understand. A month ago Gus and I sailed through pea soup fog for a box of American Buff Geese hatching eggs. I forgot the cash, Gus was harassed by the gaggle keeper's cat, and we ate cowtails from the gas station that had to have been at least a decade old, but A Goose Person got her eggs.

Last night the first gosling hatched; the second broke free this morning; and tonight, while Gus sleeps and Craig drives home from work and I try to string together some explanation for my being A Goose Person, the third and final little gosling is Trying. To the delight of E.B. White fans the world over, Gus wants to name them Louis, Serena, and Sam Beaver. Such a high praise christening, one might suspect him A Goose Person as well.



Welcome to this humble journal.

Grab a strong cuppa and settle in.

I'm so glad you're here.

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