It lay there on the edge of the yard in a feathered heap. Feet twitching violently, it tried in vain to move the rest of its body. A sad, desperate cry issued from its twisted throat, and I could feel the threads in my heart tangle together. I looked over to my grandma, who just shook her head and went back to reading her latest novel. Granddad had already left to go get the shovel and bucket. I felt another pang of sympathy for the poor thing.
The goose had come from our neighbor, Mr. Johnson’s pond. I recognized it because of its distinct white-speckled bill, and I wondered if Johnson would be mad. When Bowser, a mean Rottweiler from a few houses down, came trotting into our yard with a bloody bird hanging from its jaws, I knew that it had finally gotten past Johnson’s barbed wire fence and to the family of geese. Grandma had shooed him off, but the dog left his trophy right by the driveway.
Another strangled honk. I shuddered. All the same—I couldn’t help but feel a sick sense of curiosity and walked over to where the body lay. Its neck was snapped right in half, and one wing had been reduced to a bloody stump. It was a wonder how the bird could even move with its neck like that. I leaned in closer to see the gaping wound in its chest—Bowser had nearly disemboweled the creature, and guts spewed from its belly. With morbid fascination I watched its webbed feet thrash desperately in a hopeless attempt to get away.
I leaned in closer. Suddenly, its head spun around and it let out a loud quack right in my face. I screamed and jumped back. His head hit the ground with a thump and lay there once more. After a small shudder, I went back over to the porch away from the dying goose. My granddad had reached the bird, bucket in hand and gleaming shovel in the other. I turned away just in time to hear the sickening ‘shwick’ as the shovel swung down on the creature’s neck.
Dumping the goose into the bucket, head and all, Granddad hauled it off behind the house where I figured he would throw the body into the woods. I shuddered again, and went inside to escape the heat.
*****
“Wow. This is great!” I exclaimed, hungrily slurping down more soup. I had been outside swimming and hadn’t realized how empty my stomach was. When my grandma called me in for supper, I jumped right out of the pool and ran back down to the house to get washed up quick.
“Thank ya, hon. I knew y’all would like it,” Grandma replied, winking. “Let me know when you want s’more!”
A moment later, the contents of my bowl were gone, and only remnants of assorted vegetables remained. I held up the soup bowl and grinned sheepishly. “More please?”
Both my grandparents laughed. My grandma took the bowl from me and got up from the table to refill it. As she stood over the stove, pouring more of the delicious soup into my bowl from a big metal pot, I asked, “Grandma, how in the world did you make this so good?” I laughed, “What’s in this?”
“Goose.”
