Among the many “critters” we have on “The Fuzzy Chicken Farm” are three Sebastopol Geese. They are a hoot, or should I say honk. These three geese answer to the names of Indie, Shya and Bailey. (When they want to) Once upon a time we thought Bailey was a she but we soon discovered she was a he. Luckily we gave her a name that could be used with either gender. We are approaching the breeding season and they become aggressive during this time, especially with two males and only one female. So the “Rancherette” decided another female was in order. Indie needed a mate and the“Rancherette” was determined to play matchmaker.
The search began for someone who raises this breed of geese and lo and behold, one was found. The downside was this person lived about 3 hours away. They do not deliver; Hence a road trip. We are accustomed to road trips since the “Rancherette” shows her fancy chickens at various chicken shows.
I placed a portable pen in the pickup bed, wrapped it with a heavy-duty bed quilt for the goose’s protection from the wind and used bungee cords to secure it. With a printed map and directions to the geese herder (?) we hit the road. Before I could get 10 miles down the road, the quilt began to blow in the wind. Of course I stopped to further secure it. Again another few miles and the stupid quilt came loose again. You must understand I am not a professional truck driver. I do not have their expertise at securing loads. You are probably thinking it will happen again. And you would be correct. Fortunately, I had several bungee cords with me. This time I secured it so tightly it would have taken a stick of dynamite to remove it.
So, with that chore finally completed, we “hit the road” again. Of course no road trip worth its salt would be without a “pit stop”. Such was our case. When one gets to be our age it is imperative that one finds a place to get a “bar of candy”, if you know what I mean. It means nothing to say, “You kids go before we leave because I am not stopping!” That was then, this is now.
Mission accomplished and back on the road again. Driving down the freeway, one can get lost in the moment. Luckily I had my printed Google map and directions. If only I would have taken the time to read them, I probably would not have missed my turn. About twelve miles down the freeway I remembered. A U-turn was the next course of action. I took the next exit which could take me across to the correct highway without a U-turn. Or so I thought. I believe it was Yogi Berra who once said, “When you come to a fork in the road, take it”. There was no fork in the road, however, the detour was a dead end and one must turn right or left. Big decision, my road map was of no use any longer. The “Rancherette” turned on her IPhone gps. We turned right. I drove all the way to the next town, passing a mushroom processing plant. Now I love mushrooms and have eaten my share of several different varieties, however the smell from the processing plant was very difficult to overcome. Hurriedly, we passed.
We came into town and because I had failed to follow directions, I was lost. (Me? A male? Lost? Unheard of) I turned around and began to retrace my steps. Ugh, it was the mushroom processing plant again. I picked up speed and passed the plant quickly.
So driving further down the two lane highway about ten miles or so, the “Rancherette” thought we were still going the wrong way. She was correct. I turned around and once again went back to where we came from. Yeah, I passed the “mushrooms” for the third time. We finally located the correct road and quickly arrived at the geese home.
A varied menagerie of critters, including a very colorful Tom Turkey named Kevin which seemed to have other things on his mind. The owners met us in the driveway as well as many dogs, chickens, goats, pot-bellied pigs and geese. Travis and Joy, the owners are such nice people and their baby is so sweet. we offered to bring her home with us and the goose, but they declined, just the goose. After an enlightened conversation the “Rancherette” picked out Genevieve the goose. It seems her nickname is Gwenny, thus she will forever be known as Gweeny Goose, not to be confused with Granny Goose.
With a long drive ahead of us (assuming we don’t get lost) we said our goodbyes and departed. But there was no way I’m passing the mushroom processing plant again. Stay tuned for the continuing sage of Gweeny Goose.