Goosed

One backyard rinse. One ticked-off mother goose. Zero chance of dignity.

The Calm Before the Flap

It started like any other day in the pig pen—muddy, chaotic, and full of unregulated rodeo energy. My brother Dennis and I had been riding hogs like they were bulls at the PBR, and by the time Wanda hollered from the porch, we were sunburned, bruised, and so caked in dirt we looked like swamp warriors.

That’s when the goose struck.

The Sneak Attack

As Dennis bent over to rinse off under the hose, he had no idea he was being targeted. The female goose, a new mom with a serious attitude, made her move.

She latched on mid-thigh—right below the edge of his cutoff jean shorts—and clamped down with the fury of a protective dragon. Dennis screamed. I howled. And the yard became a battlefield.

Cirque du Goose-lay

What happened next defied physics—and dignity.

Dennis, still bent over, grabbed the goose by the neck through his own legs and locked in like he was wrestling an alligator. Neither of them let go. What followed was part slapstick comedy, part interpretive dance, and all chaos.

They spun. They screamed. Wings flapped. Legs wobbled. And me? I was no help at all, doubled over laughing in the grass.

Eventually, the goose relented. Dennis did too. But not before she’d earned her pound of flesh and a spot in Glover family legend.

Once Bitten, Twice Shy

Dennis hobbled around with a goose egg on the back of his leg for a week, and we gave that bird a wide berth for the rest of the summer. She ruled the pig pen from that day forward—and we were fine letting her.

Funny how one bite can stick with you.

To this day, I can’t hear Great White’s “Once Bitten, Twice Shy” without picturing Dennis twisted into a human pretzel, clinging to a goose neck like it owed him money.

The Cracks Beneath Us

What we didn’t know then was that Picher, Oklahoma was cracking too—quietly falling apart while we chased pigs and dodged geese. The town still rang with laughter, but beneath the yards and streets, the mines were sighing. The ground was shifting. The end had already begun.

But in that moment? We were kings of the backyard. Barefoot, bulletproof, and just a little goose-bitten.

Your Turn: Got a Goose Tale?

Ever been chased, bitten, or humiliated by something with feathers?
Share your best backyard animal showdown at facebook.com/RealChatRat.
Bonus points if it involved a garden hose, a goose, or a sibling yelling, “Don’t just stand there—help!”