Pets in Prospect - Malcolm D. Welshman [35]
I knew at once it had to be Gertie and, apologising profusely, donned some wellingtons before accompanying Reverend James over to his garden. Sure enough, there was Gertie, sailing back and forth across the vicar’s pond clearly enjoying getting into deep water. Not so me. After several abortive attempts to shoo her ashore I asked permission to wade in.
‘Of course, my dear sir. Do whatever you consider best to bring the current circumstances to a satisfactory conclusion,’ sang the vicar who was stalking round the perimeter of the pond like a hungry heron. ‘But I have to warn you, the construction of the pond is such that …’
It’s too damn deep. Yes. The warning was too late. I’d already put one booted foot in and water had slurped over the top. Short of a miracle – like walking on the surface of the water which was wholly unlikely unless the reverend had powers of which I was unaware – I was not going to get within reach of Gertie. Reverend James had swayed to a halt and brought the palms of his hands together as if about to pray.
‘It comes to me that I may have a solution to this current situation,’ he said. ‘They say “lead us not into temptation” but there are certain circumstances where one may stray from the concept of the true meaning. Wait here.’
With his circumlocutory manner of speech, I wondered how many parishioners Reverend James had managed to send off to sleep during his sermons as I watched him head down the garden, his trouser legs ballooning round his beanpole legs.
He returned clasping an armful of spinach leaves and began depositing little piles around the perimeter of the pond as if he were arranging prayer books. ‘Perhaps these little offerings will be an inducement to our feathered friend to forsake the attractions of the open water for the more edible nature of these leaves.’
Gertie had stopped paddling and had her neck stretched over her back, her beak buried under one wing. Oh Lord, surely she hadn’t dozed off, lulled into sleep by the vicar’s words? But no … her head reappeared. She’d only been preening. With a beady eye, she watched the vicar finish his circle of leaves but remained bobbing in the middle of the pond.
In frustration, I snatched up a leaf of spinach and waved it at her. ‘Come on, Gertie, move your …’ I stopped myself just in time from doing an Eliza Dolittle at Ascot, aware Reverend James was watching me. ‘… Self …’ I tailed off lamely.
But it did the trick. There was a sudden loud cackle from Gertie. With a powerful kick of her legs, she shot in full throttle towards me leaving a wake that slopped over the banks; springing out, she showered me with water as she snatched the spinach from me.
‘Well, it seems my thoughts on the use of something of a vegetable nature have eventually borne the fruit of what we set out to do without too much effort,’ said James.
‘Yes. The spinach did the trick,’ I agreed.
‘You’re going to have to do something about it,’ said Lucy when later we were discussing Gertie’s wanderings over lunch. ‘Otherwise, we’ll have the whole of Ashton up in arms. And it will be our goose that will well and truly be cooked.’
‘Very funny,’ I said glaring at her. But, of course, she was right.
Eventually, Gertie’s forages to pastures new were curtailed by wiring, staking and tying an assortment of plastic mesh, chicken wire and dismantled budgerigar cages across the bottom of the garden to ensure all goose-sized holes were plugged. But it meant I had to sacrifice my newly established vegetable plot.
‘Not to worry,’ I said, putting on a brave face as I watched Gertie gobble up the last of my young lettuces and radishes. ‘At least it’s helping to fatten you up.’
Lucy winced. I knew she was getting rather fond of Gertie. She’d told me that every morning when she went down to let the goose out, there was a friendly honk.