Wild Goose On The Fly—-Scones & A Confession

Wild Goose On The Fly   Real?  Imagined?  Tantalizing Mix of Both?

Sit down.  Grab a  scone.  Here’s the jam and  help yourself to the clotted cream.  I’ve a confession to make.

My name is Wild Goose Mama.  I’m a level one certifiable sap.  Level ones are saps who are certified specialists only in one genre of  sappiness. Hallmark prerequisites for certification is consistency and persistence.  Terms which are way more admirable than doggedness and pig headedness.

Most  lower level saps don’t aspire to rise through the ranks to higher levels,  as un-American as that sounds.  However the exceptions often enter the political arena.  Level ten saps are total schmucks, but they can be quite entertaining as party guests.

Since saps are often misunderstood, it’s important for us to acknowledge one another and nod our collective heads in commiseration.   Initially sharing your story can be a bit like doing karaoke for the first time—–sober.   This is my story.

Homeless animals cause my sap to run.  This is an example of an insider sap joke,  If you aren’t a sap or a related cousin, a cornball, then you might not find it amusing.   I digress.  I didn’t recognize my condition until my third decade.  It was then I began taking precautions.   For example when I became a member of the Humane Society, I realized my contribution could only be in the form of a check.  Volunteering to work in a shelter would’ve been tantamount to a drug addict volunteering to work in a pharmacy.   Despite my proactive tactics situations transverse my path like ubiquitous black cats.  Here is a perfect example of what I’m espousing:

While waiting for lunch at a restaurant with my family,  I  glanced out the window with its panoramic view of the parking lot and two rusting dumpsters.  An orange object laying in front of one of the dumpsters snagged my attention.  Squinting my left eye to sharpen my focus, I spied an orange kitten sunning itself.   Mmmm, now where did that little fluff ball come from?   The restaurant was in a business district with no residential housing nearby.

Let me interject at this juncture; my family was keenly aware of Mother’s little weakness.  Sooooo I said nothing about my discovery.  Yes, one might say it was a secretive action, bordering on perhaps shall we say, sneaky?

As we were heading for the car, I said in my most nonchalant voice, “Oh look, there’s a kitten by the dumpster.”

“Leave it be, dear,” said my husband in his FIRM voice.

“Oh  not to worry, I’m just going to try and pet him,” I replied. Of course we all knew I was lying.  If I could get my hands on him, I would be bringing him home.

“Dear,  leave him alone.”  My husband’s voice was a whisper shy of strident.  I ignored him—-with all due respect of course.  My sons looked at each other with that unspoken knowing siblings possess in regard to their parents.  In all fairness our home was already home to several cats and three dogs all of whom had a back story poignant enough to be a Disney movie.

I walked toward the dumpster, as my husband was shouting across the parking lot, “Give it up.  It’s fine.  It lives here.. You won’t be able to catch him anyway.”  Other exiting patrons heading for their cars looked at him curiously.

Alas my husband’s assessment was correct.  After allowing me to edge tantalizingly close,  the orange kitten ran and like Alice disappearing down the rabbit hole jumped into an opening in the foundation of the restaurant.

Giving up, I walked back to the car.   However the zeal of a genuine certified sap should never be underestimated.   To Be Continued—-

Raising the Roof Raisin Scones