Bitten By a Goose

The petting zoo never disappoints. All those baby goats, sheep, and pigs available for the petting. Cool stuff. Except for the time a goose gave me a bloody lip.


1973

The family went to the Los Angeles Zoo. I was just a little guy of six years entering the petting zoo quadrant. After looking at the caged beasts for over an hour my siblings and I were pretty lathered up at the idea of actually touching some.

Petting zoos are commonly equipped with feed dispensers. Toss a coin into the slot, turn the knob, get the feed from the dispenser, and commence enticing the animals to come close for a touching. If one hasn’t coins to load into the machine, guile must be employed to get within arm’s reach of the more elusive creatures. My older brother, I saw, had seemed to prove hearty in this area.

With nothing in his hand, he would cup it, as if it were loaded with oats and whatever, and extend it toward the desired animal. This proved effective in getting the animal’s attention and they would approach, unwitting prey. The downside, though, was that the animals would scamper off once they were close enough to observe the cupped hand was merely nude. So close, but lacking success. Try again.

I liked the sense of sport in this. Optimistic that I’d work this technique to fruition, I spied the object of my desire. A big goose. I wanted to pet that goose. Empty hand was cupped and extended. Goose’s attention gained, he approached, observed the deceit in my hand, honked, and walked away.

‘Oh no you don’t,’ I thought to myself. I pursued. Goose quickened its pace, I equaled it. He went under an unskirted building that had been raised on pillars. With almost three feet of clearance, I followed. At this point the goose turned. ‘I’m gonna touch him!’ I thought. And I was right. But not as I had hoped.

He ran at me, too fast for the clumsy unhoned motor skills of my six years. He bit me on the lip!

I emerged from under the building a crying little guy and a bloody lip. Pop Klem bought me a snow cone in hopes to minimize the swelling. Once he saw that I was fine, more scared than harmed, I can imagine the effort he had to summon to suppress the laughter that this lip biting goose must have inspired.

I have since forgiven the goose and bear it no ill will.


1976

A second incident at the same petting zoo involved my sister and a baby goat. The goat head-butted my sister. ‘A baby goat. How cute,’ one might think initially. Except for the small set of horns starting to protrude from the goat’s head. My sister, a tough five years, remained afoot despite blood flowing from her forehead. With a handful of napkins Pop Klem was present to staunch the bleeding.


My two kids have remained unscathed in their petting zoo visits. Though Wife Klem and I will continue to tempt fate.
-klem