Poor Mr. Goose

There is a small, deep swimming pool in our host family’s garden, which has the sole purpose of collecting rain water, it seems. Well, that, and storing a goose. It took me by surprise when I first noticed it – it wasn’t there when we first moved in. But there it was one morning, sitting on a perch, and occasionally swimming around in the small pool. For about a week, our hosts (Anatoli and Tatiana) fed it, and their little girl, pig-tailed Nelia, made sure she and I looked at it everyday. “Guska,” she’d say. Romanian (or Russian??) for goose, I believe. But Dan and I got the feeling it wasn’t going to be around forever. We can’t speak to our host family, but sign language says a lot. When Anatolli slid his finger across his neck and pointed at the guska, we figured out Mr. Goose wasn’t the new family pet.

Mr. Goose is gone now. Today as Nelia and I colored together, she pointed at the goose we had just finished coloring and exclaimed, “Guska!” She put her fingers to her mouth and made chewing noises. Then she laughed. Poor Mr. Goose.

P.S. I am considering whether or not I should color with Nelia anymore. That laugh was scary.