My first Christmas goose

It was going to be a quiet Christmas spent in Colorado several years ago with just me and my son Tom. I was stationed with the Army in Colorado Springs and because of rent and other expenses I would not be able to afford to travel to Ohio or Kentucky to see my family. While I was on the phone with my aunt in Kentucky, telling her we would not be able to come for the holidays, she told me that she and my uncle would get the tickets for Tom and me. During the conversation I mentioned to her that I had been out goose hunting recently, but hadn’t had any success. She told me that she had a recipe for roast goose, but had never had the opportunity to try it. Before hanging up, I told her that I would do my best to get her one. My hunting partner and I went out a few more times to try and bag a goose with no success. The week before I was supposed to leave for the holiday, I was at work and bemoaning the fact that my friend and I had not been able to decoy any geese into our spread on any of our previous hunting trips. One of the pilots I worked with said that I didn’t need any decoys or guns, “just get a loaf of bread and a sack and head over to Centennial Park.” He went on to say that the geese in the park were rather tame and would come up and eat bread out of your hand.
I planned my initial foray into poaching, I mean goose-grabbing very carefully. I had a mesh equipment bag from my football playing days that I planned to take. It was about the size of a large grocery bag. I packed this with a half a loaf of bread that I had made with my new bread machine. I also took a piece of cord that I planned to wrap around my wrist and made a loop in the loose end to drop over the goose’s neck. A lock blade knife completed my arsenal and I headed over to the park. At this point, I still didn’t have a real solid plan formulated, but I thought I’d better pack more than what might be necessary. I parked in the lot near the lake and walked over toward a large gaggle of geese. It was near twilight, but was not quite dark enough to suit me. In spite of the extremely cold temperature, there were still a few people in the park walking the trail that looped around the lake in the middle of the park. I was positioned about fifty yards from a busy commuter route, and even though it was rush hour I didn’t think that I would be noticed. As I was kneeling and feeding the geese, I waved back at several couples that were waving at me as they walked the trail. “If they only knew my purpose here,” I thought to myself. Soon it was dark enough and the park was emptied of walkers.
I checked to make sure that the coast was clear and began plotting the abduction. None of the larger geese would get very close to me so that ruled them out. One of the smaller geese was very aggressive though, and that proved to be his downfall. He got greedy and came in close to grab some bread off of the loaf. I quickly swiped at him, but he proved to be faster and more nimble than I anticipated and easily moved back. The motion startled the other geese and they began to make a clamoring racket. This didn’t faze the young hungry one though, and he was soon moving in close again for the free meal. I swiped at him once more and this time I knocked him off balance. I hurriedly jumped on him and stuffed his head under his wing and then stuffed him into the equipment bag I had brought. I got up and began to walk swiftly back to where I had parked my truck. During my get away, the goose poked his head out of the bag and began honking. I grabbed his head and shoved it back in the bag and tightened my grip around the top. When I got back in the truck, I put the bag under my legs in the front and began driving away. I hadn’t gone more than a mile before I realized that I had dropped my knife in the park. “Shoot!, “ I thought to myself. I didn’t want to lose my knife and I didn’t want to leave any evidence at the scene. I tied the mouth of the bag shut and put it in the back of the truck on the platform.
At this point I need to describe my truck. It was a Ford Ranger pickup on which I had installed an aluminum topper. I had also installed a plywood platform over the wheel wells that I had then carpeted. This created more room for sleeping in the bed of the truck, and it was also good for storing rods and guns underneath, out of sight. Well, after I put the goose in the back on top of the platform, I ran over to the scene of the abduction and retrieved my knife. As I was walking back to the truck I could see the bag in the back of the truck hopping around. I thought this might be hard to explain if I were pulled over, so I put the bag with the goose under the platform. After driving to an undisclosed location, I dispatched the goose and emptied his innards. I had to go pick my son up at the airport, so I had to wait to pluck him and got him ready for his trip east. The temperature was below zero as I sat on the landing at the top of the stairs outside of my apartment. Tom sat inside next to the fireplace and occasionally glanced out to check my progress. When I finally got done, I packed him in newspapers and put him in the freezer. In the morning, I took him out and wrapped him in newspapers. I checked him in my bag, hoping I wouldn’t have to explain the large frozen lump I was carrying.
When we arrived at our destination and told my family how I had procured the goose, I didn’t think they were going to stop laughing. Nevertheless, they all sat down when the goose was prepared and shared in my adventure. He was young and tender and turned out very well seated next to the potatoes and green beans.
While this episode turned out well, I don’t recommend this as a suitable method for the harvesting of waterfowl. I must point out that both prior to and since this episode, all of my hunting and fishing adventures have strictly adhered to the posted wildlife regulations. My uncle Chris loves this story and I found out recently that he had told it to a group of people that he was seated with at a banquet. Apparently, all of them loved the story with the exception of a local fish and game official. Some people just don’t appreciate a funny story when they hear one.

Why a new blog?

I came up with the title of this blog some years ago. I have said for a long time that I would like to write a collection of fishing stories and title it "In Search of the Perfect Hot Dog." I arrived at this title during one of my fishing trips to the White Mountains in Arizona. The drive from my home in Benson, Arizona up to the mountains was a long one through a very sparsely populated part of the state. There weren't a lot of places to stop for something to eat along the drive, and gas station hot dogs were our only choice of sustenance on many occasions. While growing up in north central West Virginia, I had become spoiled with some of the best hot dogs I have ever eaten. As a result, I judge every hot dog against those that formed my opinion years ago. For the uninitiated, a good hot dog must be boiled and served in a steamed bun. It should have a generous amount of yellow mustard and a liberal amount of chopped yellow onions. But the most important part of the hot dog is the sauce. It is made with a hamburger and tomato sauce base, and can be prepared to varying degrees of hotness. It is not chili, it is hot dog sauce. I have enjoyed several styles of hot dogs, including a Chicago dog with pickles and tomatoes, but I always look forward to the hot dogs from Yann’s or Woody’s or T&L. I can’t eat the hot dogs from Yann’s as often as I would like any more because they are just too hot for my digestive tract, but the memory of the spicy goodness still warms my insides. This blog will be a collection of my hunting and fishing memories as I write them down. I’m sure that some of you have heard a few of them, but most of them will be fresh and previously untold. Please feel free to leave comments to let me know where you think they can be improved. I hope you enjoy them.