So, for Mother's Day, my little sister, Kelly and I went together to get mom a present. Given that she and I share some grassroots-esque type leanings, we thought we'd get mom a "donation in your name" kind of gift. Heifer International gives animals to people in developing countries to provide them with both food and livelihood (www.heifer.org). So we thought that sounded good and got down to the serious business of picking which sort of animal to purchase. In our price range, the choices were chickens, geese, ducks and bees.
Well, as you may or may not know, I hate geese. This loathing has a two-fold origin. First, I grew up in London, Ontario and frequently went to a little place known as Storybook Gardens in Springbank Park. Storybook Gardens is a nursery-rhyme themed playground with slides and sculptures and a few animals (well, they said they had animals, you rarely actually saw them, but that's another post). ANYWAY, there was a concession stand in Storybook where you could get, among other things, snowcones and french fries. So, we often had fries for lunch while we were there. And also in Storybook Gardens and the park in general, there were Canada geese just walking around. A lot geese. And let me tell you, they understood french fries. As soon as you got your fries, you better believe they were there, trying to peck them out of your hands.
And when you're five and you're small and not that quick, it is a long trip from the concession stand to the picnic table. And even once you're there, they're there too waiting, honking, ruffling their feathers menacingly. Seriously, it was scary.
The same is true of the stupid geese at York University, where I studied for one year before I got the hell out and went to U of T. My residence was right beside a nice pond where I and my friend (now my husband) used to like to go. But try to sit there and have a nice lunch in the sunshine. First, goose shit everywhere. Second, the geese would attack white styrofoam containers and brown paper bags. They had figured that shit out, let me tell you. Sometimes I used to leave by paper bag out as a decoy to try and distract them while I ate my actual food. Ah, the taxing work of Fine Arts undergrad at York - trying to outsmart geese.
So long story long, Kelly and I didn't want to buy geese. We also didn't want to buy chickens, because, well, they're ugly. Which left us with ducks and bees. Kelly however, was quite concerned that bees might be a handful for the first-time beekeeper. She had fears of vast stingings about the face and arms for our hapless recipients, not to mention the possibility of allergic reactions with no epi-pen in sight. We investigated a little more and discovered that basic training was provided along with the bees which waylaid her fears somewhat. What was unclear, however, was whether protective gear was part of the deal. The description said they would receive a hive and box but it said nothing about face guards (you know the beekeeping hat with the mesh face) and gloves. There were two pictures of happy recipients, one with a hat and no gloves, the other with gloves but no hat. This filled Kelly with a feeling of foreboding. Not wishing to condemn our poor recipient to a life of stings and fevered bouts of potentially fatal allergic reactions, we decided to go with the ducks. The website said they could be used for eggs or meat and that their poo makes good fertilizer. Plus it had pictures of fluffy little ducklings (not the one posted above, I took that at Humber Bay Park last spring). Who doesn't love ducklings? Really!
Sidenote: according to the spell check, there are no such words as "beekeeper" and "ducklings." Hmmm.
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