Hello, my friends!

Today’s memory takes place somewhere in the Southwest in the mid 1980s.  We had an Australian Shepherd we called Jodie who served as transportation and playmate when necessary. She’s been gone for many years, but I will never forget how she became my personal hero one hot afternoon.

My sisters and I  picked out a gosling each from the local feed store. We were so excited to have a pet smaller than us that needed to be fed and fussed over. As they got older, my father built a wire pen with small wooden “houses” where the geese could lay their eggs. I loved watching the geese scatter about the pen, especially “Lucky.”

I had named her “Lucky” when I first picked her out  because it  fit the fluffy bird in my hand. One day  she reached through the gate, hunting for food. Excited that my pet wanted to play, I crept through the wires into her pen. She looked so white and soft, unlike Jodie who left hair on my clothes.

The other two geese started making so much noise as all three ran at me, nipping my ankles and legs. The wooden boxes became my refuge, white feathers swirled and tiny teeth threatened to eat me whole. Worse than that, I had to go to the bathroom.

Jodie appeared then, barking at each offending goose. She stole inside the cage, fending off death by avian. I clutched at her brown and white fur as tears washed across my face. We crossed the threshold together–fur and flesh. I was the lucky one.

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