Ugh. I’m having a really hard time adjusting to the end of summer/onset of winter. Usually summer is my *least* favorite time of year in New Hampshire; I hate hot, humid weather. But I spent most of a year and a half working full-time in Houston, only coming home on weekends and holidays, and got acclimated (or, as close to acclimated as someone who hates Gulf Coast weather with the fiery passion of a thousand suns will ever get) to the weather there, so this summer in NH seemed downright pleasant to me (to be fair, it was also an unusually cool summer). And now the autumn is just leaving me in an almost constant state of frozen hands and feet. That, and the end of daylight savings time, and some cloudy days, is rendering me lethargic and uninspired. I went trolling through my Facebook wall looking for blog material to scavenge from there, and found that stuff I posted only a month ago is already gone. Damn you, Mark Zuckerberg!! Hopefully the will to wash my hair, put on pants, leave the house occasionally and have life experiences worth writing about will return soonish. In the meantime, here’s some recycled crap about my geese.
Warning: the following post contains “geese”, “Path”, and the apparently obligatory movie and TV references. If you are bored silly by any of these topics (and really, why wouldn’t you be), move along. Also, I ate peanuts last night, so if you’re allergic, best leave now.
The geese have become so used to me that last night I thought they were going to mutiny when I tried to put them to bed. One of them was refusing to go into the barn, even when I put both hands on him, and then after I got him inside, he kept standing in the doorway honking, as if to say “But it’s not even dark yet!!” Today, I thought I’d give them a treat by opening up the enclosure and letting them try some new grass while I worked on the Path. At first, they were too nervous to even walk through the opening I made, but after a few minutes, all seven had walked through. I expected them to stay close to the opening, but five of them proceeded right up the hill to the front lawn, close to where I was weeding. Every time I straightened up, I’d look over my shoulder, and they’d be closer. This went on for quite a while. It reminded me of the scene in the Holy Grail where King Arthur is charging the castle… and charging… and charging… so I started to hum King Arthur’s theme, as it seemed appropriate. The five intrepid fowl came quite close to me, but instead of hanging out and eating grass, they proceeded to head off in the direction of the corner market, so I figured I ought to put a stop to that, since I was NOT buying them anything. So I herded the five back down near their enclosure, where they met up with the other two. I thought that would be the end of it, as they were now in a spot with lots of fresh grass, beyond the end of the Path. But apparently the sight of my bent-over ass was magnetic to them, as they once again kept coming closer to me, this time on the Path. Now that was just going a bit far (I don’t want poop on my ridiculously time-consuming masterpiece), so I gave them a rousing GET OFF MY PATH! Which, shockingly, they appeared to understand *perfectly* and immediately ran back to the grass. But they kept creeping back, so after two more iterations of Clint Eastwood impersonation, I herded them back into their enclosure and reclosed the gap. They then proceeded to lie down, right by the fence, as close to me as they could get, and stare at me balefully. Meanwhile, the six inch gash in my back (see Another Day at Friday’s Freehold) still hurts a week later, has a big ugly scab, and I’m wondering if I’ll wind up with a scar. So there you have it: another riveting episode of “Frontier House”, New Hampshire edition. :-p
Update 11/10/13: yes, I do have a scar.