How To Turn Sound On Catch Phrase

Geese II (Part II)

After the accident, the surviving goose never recovered. He was alone, and could not understand, his shadow, his friend, his companion, comrade, brother, was gone, and now he wandered aimlessly around the garden, fluttering and then, frightened at not hearing any echo or response, silent and locked in a silent desolation. He began to spend hours staring at the gate, against scagliandoglisi with tumultuous fury at his every move. Why he did is a mystery whose answer is not given to know. He became
death on two webbed feet, dangling helpless and depressed and without purpose, except to destroy everything that crosses its path-course human members of the family were included in what was disturbing his peace-tormented.
To try to raise the morale and prevent committed suicide by throwing himself into swimming pool too, my bought him a new companion: a 'yellow and fluffy goose other cheered the garden with its bobbing cheeps and lopsided.
In the days that followed the arrival, small palm was escorted everywhere by a biped with opposable thumbs and shepherd's crook. It was too much fear that the winged terminator decides to perform an act and destroy the little murderer without a trace, so in turn follows the young duck in his explorations in the garden, ready to defend it vigorously and impose psychopath between him and the duck to rescue him -and believe me, to come between that kind of meat grinder with its beak and its prey is demonstrating tremendous courage. "
But our fears were unfounded: he, surrounded by the fog of his despair, even took care not to smear, simply stared straight ahead, careful only to the gate that did not-always-suspicious movements. The only time showed minimal interest in the newcomer when he was savagely pecked on the head, cutting into the root of any attempt to approach.
And in this sad the duck showed some idiotic masochism as well as skiing, because after two days had not yet figured out that if one dared to touch the baby, he would have immediately received a blow to the caretaker on duty. But you know, the geese are geese, we can do.
After a short time, however, the situation changed: the two-legged and feathered policeman feared by every gate in the garden decided to take his young successor as such, allowing them to approach and get caught under his wing without risking being cruelly murdered. Walk with him, telling him of the pitfalls of life and discussing questions of the universe, while the young palms behind the trotting to keep up. They are called Socrates and Plato.

One day not too long after the arrival of his followers, Socrates died poisoned-and-everything back, and the young Plato was left alone. To avoid depression at such a tender age, my hastily brought home fourth chick. Male
too, as we later discovered. We made amplein: four out of four males Ochi, and despite the names, stupid in the depths of the marrow. Never seen anything like that.
However, the small-Aristotle once called, just to continue the series, had arrived and was quickly set with his new friend. Both were still at an early bipedal and yellow feathers age and, of course, needed a mother figure or father to guide them in the right way. They seemed a bit 'scattered and lost as the night crouched near one another-they are feeling safe-deleritti and abandoned in a land inhabited by ghosts.
But it seems that my mom at that time had begun to make him "Pio Pio." Literally.
I mean, every time he left the house and my mom, holy woman, leaves home with a frequency of twice per hour for the childhood-scarrozza and drove along the avenue in the garden, sticking its head out the window and with a piercing falsetto launched the friendly reminder. Pio Pio, pious and devout and pious with the pious, the birds, happy to finally hear from someone affectionately called, became convinced that this was toward the mother.
The point is that it began to follow my mother. Maybe.
began to follow the car of my mother, from whom the mother was leaning to launch joyful cries, the similarity between a Toyota and a goose of the Capitol, I must say, still eludes me, but the obscure mechanisms that regulate the intricate mind of the geese are something that are not at all familiar, and therefore do not pretend to be able to understand. However, the kind that calls my mom sent to her protected with wings allaToyota earned the enduring devotion of the two.

The scene repeats itself still an infinite number of times a day-as many as the times when my mom leaves the house, and is as follows:
as the two birds feel some vibration of the ground which could make him understand that there is a thing with wheels on approach, they stop and turn the long necks toward the gate. Ahead.
If the car is coming from the garden, they just scamper meeting before the gate opens and the swallow-gate-usually wins, and then leave them too, a bit 'helpless to see that the car runs very fast , to resign and, if the gate is already closed, sitting dutifully waiting for the mother.
If the car is coming, however, the whole becomes more dramatic: after being detained, they recognize it immediately, even without seeing it. As soon as the gate began to slowly open and the nose of the car is seen, the two birds entering the fibrillation and run with open wings, accompanying the race by a festive cackling with pleasure, to welcome her mother back.
And this they do even if they are on the opposite side of the garden. Generally it is better that they are very far, because if they are already close, comfortable, cozy place above the car, ready to keep her company and leave without preventing it from hanging out.
ride to the gate, however, is point number one. Point number two is that of accompanying her mother at home, keeping their heels, they begin the race at breakneck speed, always open wings that allow him stand out sometimes in-flight low-however, voices with volume at most. And my mom driving, resigned and almost regretted it. Trying to repair the damage, no more peeping through the window, but everything is useless now, the two birds constantly and devotedly follow the car with their headlong rush to the parking lot, where three-point, as noted above, the mother-company to do it lay around met, pecking on all sides to show their affection.
They also started the operation to lift nice-sticking its beak at one end and pulling with all their strength can obstinacy-a rubber finish which I think would serve to cushion the slamming of the trunk. Thanks to this their private jobs, now our car also has the tail.
Of course, while surrounded by affection their four-wheel-bearer, also surround the home of abundant scacazzamenti.

Now our Plato and Aristotle are in good physical health, at least, because on the mental-there are some doubts, but are white-bellied and in good shape thanks to the efforts Olympic make every day, to love their mother and madness Unfortunately, I'm already too old to be put in the oven.