The Goderich Signal-Star, 1978-09-07, Page 21Inside:
New chance
Low fuel bills
Fine feathers
Don't sign
New charter
Drennon picnic
Jack Riddell
There has been this nagging fear
gnawing away at m► insides over the
long weekend and its persistence was
depressing:
It builds up every year over the
Labor Day weekend as evening skies
roll in earlier than usual and kiddies
get their hair washed and new outfits
pressed for that first, school encounter
after summer of fun and frolic.
Summer is slipping away.
Not just slipping away, it is pretty
well down the tube and I suspect like
most people, I'm just not ready for the
end. It just kinda creeps up and then
whamo hits me with a sickening thud.
And realizing that those lazy summer
days are gone, I just have to yell. "Wait
a minute, not yet. There were so many
things I was going to do, just a few
more weeks."
But my pleas go unanswered and fall
rolls in without much notice or fanfare.
Now it would only seem realistic .to._
plan for next Year, now, to ac-
commodate all my interestsso that fall
doesn't catch me unaware again.
Then again I never was one to plan
anything too much in advance,
preferring to act on the spur of the
moment, and any advanced
calculations on my paait would
probably have me down at the beach by
the end of February, or on the golf
course the first week of March.
Planning is not what you might call one
of my strong. points.
Seasons never bothered me at all as a
kid, for they always brought with them
new adventures and different things to
do. And there was always something
exciting about them. Even getting back
• to school was looked forward to with
enthusiasm, well for a couple Cif days
anyway.
I could never understand it, but the
only person who never really seemed to
get a big kick out of summer was m_y,.
mottier. I just couldn't grasp that
Basically I was a model type child
(you'll have to take my word on that).
but as summer dragged on into August
mom would say, with a hint of a smile
on her face: "I can't, wait until school
starts."
I mean all summer long parents
threaten kids with the same type of
lines. "School starts in another eight
weeks."
Eight weeks. Oh my God. It hung
heavy over our heads like foreboding
doom until the summer was gone and
we put on new outfits to head off to
school for another year.
Summer seemed endless in those
days and there was never any real
record kept of the days but as soon as
mother 'took you to the store for a new
pair of pants and a shirt, maybe even
some shoes, you instinctively knew
there was some evil in her m`efhods ,
But Imanaged to get back at tier for
those sly moves and she soon realized
that sending me to school in new
clothes was a mistake. Took her a while
to catch on though. I couldn't look at a
new pair of pants without getting holes
in the knees.
Reflecting on my early school days,
when it seemed that everything I wore
had at least two or three patches,
knees, elbows, anywhere, it occurred to
me that I must have spent a great deal
of time crawling around the ground or
else mother bought clothes with holes
already there „just for convenience
sake.
I don't get holes in my pants
anymore, well not too often, but fall has
never been that alluring.
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''''
odenc
IGNAL
STA
131 YEAR -36
Donald the Goose is probably the only gander
around who knows how to shake a webbed foot. He
also loves grape popsicles, comedy classic
movies, and chasing cars. Since he was two weeks
old, Donald has been the pet of 13 -year-old Alison
Scott, 314 Gibbons Street, Goderich. Alison is a real
bird -lover. She used 'to have three pheasants and
another goose. Whenever she finds any Injured
bird, she takes it home and fixes its wings so it can
fly again. (Photo by Jim Hagarty)
- THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 7, 1978
• SECOND SECTION
Over Donald.Duck
BY JIM HAGARTY
Since 1 started working at the paper here
in Goderich, I've been sent out on some
pretty wild goose chases.
The first week saw me dragging my
brand new North Stars through (some pig
pens in Ashfield Township, all for the sake
of a modern swine farm story.
That pian, I was assigned to -follow up the
skunks'in Goderich, which I discovered is a
very dangerous . thing to do. Especially
when your editor asks for pictures.
Then a group of government fitness
experts plugged wires into my half -naked
body and hustled me around a cold gym-
nasium for a couple of hours to see how
much the•human machine could stand.
Why me, Lord?
I came to work last Wednesday, won-
dering what other adventures could
possibly be dreamed up for my last week in
Goderich.
I found out.
Donald the Goose, here I come.
BY JIM HAGARTY
Remember Arnold the
-Pig-and-his-..-antics on the
popular television
comedy series, Green
Acres?
Well, Arnold used to
watch television, carry
his -own lunch box ..to
schbol, devour ice cream
cones at every op-
portunity, and even fall in
love from time to time.
He was a totally en-
dearing little critter
because the show's
writers gave Arnold a
ridiculous over -
endowment of human
qualities.
Something deep in the
human psyche rejoices at
the sight of a not -so -dumb
animal who can not only
think for himself, but who
can out -wit old hoino
sapiens at every turn,
When I caught my first
glimpse of Donald the
Goose, he was standing
like a statue onrthe- fru ,rt
lawn of .Robert Scott's
home of Gibbons Street.
So much like a statue in
fact, that I thought he
was a statue.
jt was only when the
statuesque figure moved
its head in my direction
as I drove up the Scotts'
driveway that I prepared
to meet my latest
assignment.
As I stepped out of my
car, a young girl called
out from the house,
"watch your shoe laces!'
I glanced down towards
my feet and out of the
corner of my eye caught
this monstrous three -foot -
tall bird making straight
for me- Ever -brave, I
jumped up on the hood of
my car.
"Smarten up, Donald,"
commanded the girl as
she • walked down the
driveway to meet the.
"Now you leave the nice
man alone."
The big bird stopped in
its goose tracks in im-
mediate obedience to its
owner, and Alison Scott
conducted a pert, but
formal introduction.
"Donald, Jim. Jim,
Donald," she purred, and
without thinking I caught
myself politely telling a
goose how very glad I
was to meet him.
Donald didn't honk a
word in reply and stan-
ding at attention a short
distance from me, kept a
suspicious eye moving
from my face to my
shoes.: •
"He likes to open
people's shoe laces and
chew on them," ex-
plained Alison.
I never got the op-
portunity to find out
whether it's the people's
laces Donald likes
chewing on -or the-peupte._
who own them, but from
then on the goose made
no further attacks either
on my runners or on my
person.
The three of us waddled
on over to the Scott's
back yard, where Alison
spent an hour alternating
between chasing after
her andersome pet and
r oun-ting Donald's
they short life history
or me.
Donald the •Goose was
born at 4:15 p.m. on May
2nd to Donald Lamb the
Farmer, after whom the
little gosling took his
name.
A couple of weeks later,
young Donald left for
good his maternity ward
on the farm outside of
Goderich and headed for
the bright lights of town.
FORGOTTEN
HIS ROOTS
He's lived with the
Scotts ever since and like
a lot of country bumpkins
turned city slickers,
Donald's sort of forgotten
about his roots.
"I don't think he
realizes he's a goose,"
suggested Alison.
"Whenever he meets
another goose, he just
goes up to them, sticks
his tongue out and walks
away."
Well, Donald's ego may
be a little over -inflated,
but Alison has a way of
keeping him humble.
When we first sat down.
to chat about Alison's pet,
Donald noticed we were
occupied and quietly
started sneaking off to
the front of the house and
the street. You see, he
loves to chase cars.
Alison sensed that her
goose was on the loose
-anad int err d-- our -
conversation with a
bellering "Honk! Honk!"
in Donald's direction.
The ۥnose stopped dead
and' shcok his head back
and forth in reply.
"Don't you shake your
head, "No" to me,"
shouted Alison and
Donald gave her a couple
of sassy honks and took
off.
The ensuing chase
eventually ended up in
the back yard again, but
not before the goose had
led the girl around the
house, always keeping
just out of her arm's
reach.
"He loves it when I
chase him," explained
Alison" when she finally
resumed the interview.
"But if anyone else tries
to chasehim, Donald just
turns around and goes
after them_"
One day, Alison's
mother Josephine made
the mistake of taking
after Donald but she
discovered what a sen-
sitive critter he is: The
goose -chased her and
ever since then, he's held
a bit of resentment
against her.
Of course, there's more
to it than that. When he
was younger, Donald
used to live in the Scotts'
basement, but one
Sunday when the family
returned from a weekend
away, it was to discover
that the goose had eaten
all the plants downstairs,
chewed up half the carpet
and relieved himself
several times on the other
half.
They found him hiding
in a trunk that day, and
Josephine banished
Donald to-apen outside.
"He's never liked my
moth•e-r---- -sin ee----then '' -
Alison added.
I guess not!
HE LOVES POPSICLES
Donald loves to play.
Besides cars, he gets a
big thrill out of chasing
dogs. He's afraid of cats,
though, and often he'll
take off down the street
after a dog and minutes
later, hightail it back
home with a feline in
pursuit.
When he's been good,
Alison treats her goose to
a popsicle which really
makes him grin. "He
likes grape popsickles the
best," she confided.
Whether or not geese
have a sense of humour,
Alison's convinced her
_ Turn to page 2A •
I feel like the victim of a bad joke.
While hundreds of other people in the
country were enjoying the final
weekend of summer relaxing in what
little sun is left before the big freeze I
was -cruising the grounds of the Mit-
chell Fall Fair looking for pictures. I
had the 124th edition of the fair as a
weekend assignment and spent three
days and one 'evening looking at
everything from bran muffins to
Belgian horses.
To the trained eye it 'may appear as
though the job is better than standing
on some assembly line doing -up bolts
but there is a certdin amount of
drudgery. I mean how many imes can
you look at the bestbrownie n the fair
and, get excited about descr bing this
delicious treat to readers of a
newspaper.
But every cloud has a silver lining
and the Mitchell Fall Pair was no
exception. I was introduced to a new
sport that interested me not so much
for what it was but for who com-
peted.One of the attractions in the fair
was a professional tug-of-war.
For me a tug-of-war consisted of a
bunch of guys getting together and
pulling on a rope trying to drag another
bunch of guys through a swamp or
river. But professional tug-of-wars are
a different story.
I wandered onto the track at the
fairgrounds a few minutes before the
action was to start and figured there
must be a ball tournament somewhere
as part of the fair: Everywhere I turned
there were groups of men gathered
around a coach listening -carefully to
instructions. The -men were ali,dressed
in Snappy uniforms,with their names on
the front and the names of their
sponsors on the back.
A closer look indicated that this was
no group of ball players. These guys
were all huge specimens of human
beings and their footwear indicated
they were not planning, any running.
They were all wearing hob nail work
boots with serrated, metal soles at-
tached to the bottom. These metal soles
were about two inches thick and looked
like they could turn a log into kindling
witha little effort from the owner..
I watched as the .first teams got
ready for action. A coach walked up
and down this lineup of massive hulks
getting them psyched up for their work.
A kid followed him with an aerosol can
spraying stickum on the palms of the
team members as he walked up the
line. The guys held out their arms to
space themselves on the rope and the
official yelled4man the rope!'
In a flash both squads snatched the
rope off the groundandbegan to pull.
The official yelled to take up the slack
and then screamed go. -Simultaneously
both teams began to utter gut -
wrenching screams as they leaned into
the rope. Each anchor man, usually the
heaviest of the team members, planted
their massive serrated' soles into the
dirtanddefied anyone to move them.
Coaches carefully watched the op-
posing team for a weakness as • -the
players got ready to heave. The first
sign of advantage sent the coaches into
action. They screamed, waved their
arms, shouted encouragement and
cajoled their- players to get down and'
pull.
Five minutes of grunting, groaning'
and sweating and the match was over.
Feeling like a dwarf I tried to talk to
one of these guys. Picking out the
smallest I walked up and shielded my,
eyes as I looked up to ask him a
question.
How long does it take to find a group
of guys this big and this strong, willing
to spend weekends at fall fairs in this
game I asked this guy?
.� What do you mean" he told me
gasping for breath."We're way too
light. The average weight of our team
is about 210 pounds. Most of these other
teams outweigh us quite a bit "
Wondering what he thought of my 157
pounds I decided to just quietly take
some pictures and go on my way. He
may be bigger than me but good things
come in small packages, right?
jerr
Seddon