Short Story (I guess)

When I was ten, I had two geese. Their names were Bob and Jane. They were the sweetest geese I’d ever met. Jane would comb my hair with her beak, and Bob loved to eat oatmeal out of my hands. If stray dogs came over at night, Bob and Jane started honking and scared them away, better than any alarm. When I went outside, they would come waddling over, happy to see me, looking for treats.

Then spring came, bringing nesting season along with it. Jane decided to make her nest in my hayshed, which was now empty of hay. I had some crates stored in there, but nothing else. It was the perfect place for her to have her nest. I built a little shelter for her, so she had a small, enclosed space, and filled it with straw. She laid seven perfect eggs, and sat on them diligently.

One morning, though, one of the eggs was missing. I didn’t know where it had gone, but Bob was getting upset. When I would come near, he would ruffle his feathers and start a low, ominous hiss.

The next morning, another egg was missing, and Bob was even more defensive. The musky smell of skunk lingered in the corner of the hayshed, right by Jane’s nest. “Ah ha!” I thought. Skunks had stolen my chickens’ eggs before; they must be the ones responsible for Jane’s missing eggs. I proceeded to set the skunk trap, a large metal wired box, in front of the hayshed doors, baiting it with lambburger.

When I went out to check the trap the next morning, it was empty. Disheartened, I went into the hayshed to check on Jane and her eggs. From out of nowhere, Bob attacked. He clamped his beak onto my jeans and was beating me with his powerful wings. He webbed toes clawed at my leg, leaving deep gashes under my jeans. I kicked him with my free leg, trying to make him let go. Finally, he did. I turned and ran. Desperate to escape, I wasn’t watching where I was going, and tripped over the skunk trap. The sharp metal corner sliced into my shin, grating against the bone. With Bob nipping at my heels, I recovered from my stumble and ran for the house.

Slamming the door behind me, I slouched against the door, panting. Tentatively, I peered through the gash in my jeans, into the gash in my flesh. A good four inches long, it had already started to swell. It started to hurt, and I started to cry. My dad wandered over, wondering what was wrong. He helped me wash it out, but didn’t believe that Bob had attacked me. We went back out to confront the geese, so I could prove it to him. Bob immediately spread his wings and advanced at me, hissing. I ran for the house again, while Dad kept Bob off my back.

Things were never the same between us again. Every time I went outside, Bob would lunge at the fence, trying to attack me. The weeks passed, and Jane stopped sitting on her eggs. She quit too soon, so none of them hatched. A few months later, Bob was eaten by a coyote, and Jane went back to being her sweet self. But to this day, every gander I’ve ever owned or met has hated me. They lunge against the fence, straining to get through to attack me.

Journal: What did you learn from writing this piece?

From writing this piece, I learned that I had a rather painful childhood. Aside from that, I found that I am more comfortable not writing in the first person, and not writing about personal experiences. I can’t tell if I like this piece or not since it made me so uncomfortable to write it and read it. Of all the pieces we’ve written so far in this class, I think this was the hardest for me.