Dressing a friend’s goose is the get out of jail card for a left brained person. There never would be a goose in my yard, although I do confess to a pig, a lamb and a toad. But a goose in my wild and crazy right brained friend’s yard is open season.
The first winter I sent Goose a green velvet dress for the Christmas parties, and an ermine jacket and muff to keep warm. Goose needed them badly; it snows so much in upstate New York we identified Goose’s frigid body by her ermine wrap.
When Linda moved her studio to from New York to Ohio in 2003, Goose came, too. Six Mayflower trucks backed down her street to unload; one thirty pound concrete goose tucked into a corner. Goose lives in the driveway of the new house. I once sent Goose an outfit addressed to Goose in the Driveway. The postman put it in the box. Either he was short on humor or there are rules. I suppose these are completely identical.
Many people keep Goose attired. Linda says goose clothes even arrive anonymously. When Emily was three years old and lived here she bounced up and down on the back seat all the way to Linda’s. She had a witch costume to put on Goose for Halloween.
We have an obligation to keep Goose looking her best every day. A lovely woman on Linda’s street had a stroke two years ago. Every day the weather is fit she walks on her husband’s arm, two blocks down and two blocks back to see what Goose is wearing. Last Sunday it rained on and off. Goose was up for it.