The Goose

The Goose
Gather round, and hear a tale of a man with more tan than plan.

Limericks are traditional drinking songs from England (they're not actually Irish!). In their purest form, they should be obscene. Even better if they violate taboos. I didn't know any of that when I wrote this, I just thought it worked well for this story. And while I think that using structured verse gives me some street cred to use poetic license, this is absolutely a true story. Furthermore, even though I've written heart-wrenching accounts of interactions with wild birds before, I'm pleased to report that this ridiculous poem took more time than any previous post!¹

And while it's complete nonsense, maybe it does violate a couple of taboo subjects for a veterinarian: joking about death, ridiculing a member of the public, or even suggesting that humanity's best intentions to help sometimes just spreads goosecrap everywhere.

Oh well.

Now I give you, The Lake O. Bro Limerick.

There once was a Bro from Lake O.,
A jolly old bro–you should know–
Who'd be quick to report
(In Hawaiian boardshorts),
He's pure bro from his head to his toes.
One fine summer day on Lake O.,
Whilst chillaxing on his patio.
This well-meaning guy,
Saw something awry,
And let the whole neighborhood know.
'Twas an animal, clearly distressed!
Which roused passion in Lake O. Bro's chest,
He set courage in action,
And put down his distractions,
All second thoughts bravely suppressed.
With a speed quite celebratory,
He leapt into the water ("For glory!"),
And paddled and stroked,
His dreams did get stoked,
Of soon having a pretty great story.
The stricken goose's suspicions agrew,
For– as far as it knew–
It's time was nigh ended,
And shouldn't be spended,
In the trunk of Bro's used Subaru.
But this bro had little intention,
And–dare I say– less comprehension.
To resist this bold plan,
For this poor bird's lifespan,
Would not extend with veterinary attention.
With practiced interpersonal skills,
He sloshed into the clinic to thrill,
Our staff with his tale,
Of the goose he'd assailed,
And beseeched us it's health to fulfill.
While (I assume) his bro pals were impressed,
And Bro-pride swelled in their breasts,
This fine Lake O. Bro,
Text messaging from the road,
Neglected the epilogue of his Broquest.
For myself and the goose were alone.
And I pondered it's shattered wing bone.
With it's wasted condition,
And terminal malnutrition,
Had a scenic death already been blown?
At the risk of being too verbose,
I halted this wild creature's woes.
'Fore returning to my shift,
I wiped up the gooseshit,
Whilst the Disney version got told to "The Bros".
Thus ends this excessive limerick,
With the push of a pink-tinged barbiturate,
No lesson is clear,
But, hey! Raise a beer!
And consider it quite amphigoric.

  1. Although it's not even close to most nerdy limericks out there.
Greg Bishop

Greg Bishop

A veterinarian with unquenchable creative impulses. Unquenchable? Hmmm... creative "tendencies"? Well, it depends on how well I slept last night. Also a writer, illustrator and whatever-elser.