It was true to say that Crisp, my aged companion, didn’t like geese.
We were on a visit to Trout’s farm and the geese met us at the front gate as we alighted from our car.
“You go first,” said Crisp standing behind me.
“They’re only geese,” I said, stepping around them with Crisp standing closer to me than normal. Crisp was a lover of her body space, usually arm’s length from me, but today she was sacrificing that need.
“Nasty things geese,” she exclaimed, “as a kid, they chased me around the farm, they have a very nasty peck.”
They must have sensed Crisp’s fear for they started squawking, circling her as if they identified her as someone distrustful of them, and they were right.
It turned out to be one of the rare times on our holiday where Crisp showed how light-footed she could be.