Goosed by Guilt!

In the spirit of Earth Day, I have to come clean about a sin against nature in which I played accomplice to the murder of a Canada goose.  The incident still rankles this moderate tree-hugger.  Anyone who knows much about me, or has seen a random selection of my photos, understands I'm a bit of a bird lover.  Birds are absolutely delightful, lovely and eyeballable creatures.  I feed them and provide fresh drinking water for them for Pete's sake!  So, it doesn't make sense to me that when a young fowl-hunting friend of mine asked during a recent phone call if I was in the mood for a goose because a pair just happened to be wandering his property, my immediate thoughts concerned myself and NOT the mated-for-life pair of handsome geese.

Woodpecker outside my mom's window.

Male cardinal on my arbor.

Female cardinal gathering nesting supplies.

A wandering baby robin on my neighbor's porch.

Granted, the total off-the-cuff suggestion caught me off guard.  Nowhere in the purpose of our call was there a natural opening for a field-to-table killing.  His simple logic dictated that since my car would soon be headed in his direction to pick something else up, he could shoot and dress the bird and have it ready for me.  No worries.  Somehow, the random stars had swiftly lined up within a few short minutes!  All in a short late afternoon's work.  I toyed with the idea, what with Easter drawing near, and me with my holiday food desires left perpetually unsatisfied each year where visions of duck, goose and lamb dance in my hungry head.  The palates around me find traditional meats more to their liking.  They feel no need to branch out into more delectable, less common main course fare.

A lucky live pair in the local soccer field.

"Well-l, that turkey breast you gave me last time was so lean that I roasted it into inedible toughness.  How would I do any better this time?"  The eager teen sportsman assured me that practice would make perfect, "I have my license.  Don't worry."  In the end, I relented, though reluctantly.  Let me remind you that at that decision point, I was still inhaling stale tour bus air on the the final leg of our recent five-day Florida vacation.  Almost 9 hours had elapsed.  I was tired and wired.  Not firing 100% on all mental cylinders!  My eagerness to be reunited with Hank the Wonder Pup had top billing in what gray matter remained aware enough to function at all.  And he doesn't qualify as wild game.

Always blame it on the bus!

But let me tell you that THE VERY MOMENT our decidedly non-Earth friendly Yukon (not my choice) rounded the curve of my personal bird slayer's driveway only to be met with a desperately honking lone goose wandering aimlessly across the hilly meadow spreading out before me, doubtless crying for his missing mate, the mistress of his heart who was at that very moment headless, gutted and plucked, resting on a plain white collapsible table on the driveway just up yonder, awaiting my freezer back in suburbia, I felt the sharp sting of my thoughtlessness.  

Goosed!

What in the bloody heck had I been thinking?!!  Surely a 41 year-old woman knows better than a 'smart but yet on the young side of his 20's' man the selfish folly of executing such a majestic bird simply because it would be nice to practice roasting it!  I mean, what was I gonna do?  Have him knock off a goose once a week or once a month until I got it just right and figured out the best sides to accompany it?  What about the leftovers I'd most certainly discard when the first one, or two or six, turned out dry and unpalatable?  And then there's the matter of all those feathered spouses flying dejectedly from one pond or meadow to another in a constant state of mourning?!  Would my insurance cover their grief counseling?  Imagine the co-pays!  Oh, and let's not forget the wee thing about an actual hunting SEASON for a species.  It turned out that it wasn't even the time for shooting Canada geese on Tennessee soil!  Great!  Now I'd also broken the law.  (When the youth's parents learned of his illicit kill, they had a nice talk with him about propriety and such.)  Cuff me, game warden!

My quandary now is how I'm ever going to be able to look that frozen carcass in the, er, face, and actually consume it with a bit of gravy and green beans.  But to NOT eat her, after the inexcusable fate to which I subjected her, would be reproachful.  Wasteful.  Terrible.  My punishment, it seems, for this lapse in judgement, will be harsh.  And I deserve it.  And the irony is that she'll actually be GOOD for me . . . as nourishing in death as she was in life.  Forgive me, gorgeous winged lady, for my transgression.  I pray your loving male finds a new mate with your blessing.  

P.S.  I'm sorry my pup made chew toys out of your feathers.  Three of them, very well formed I might add, made their way back to my house for a scrap album.  You'll not soon be forgotten.