Rudy was an actual goose. Well, a concrete statue of one. I did a lot of stupid things when I was a young drinking man, including lawn shopping. (i.e. getting wasted and driving around through suburbia stealing shit off of people’s lawns. Like I said… young. stupid.) My only defense is that my usual accomplice was friend and roommate Rob who is a full two years older than me and should’ve been the voice of reason.
One night my lawn shopping scores included one of those “fashion” geese that people put on their lawns in seasonally specific get ups. (A little snow hat and scarf in winter. A pilgrim’s hat in fall. A bathing suit and snorkel when summer hits. Y’know… A fashion goose.) It had been a pretty dry trip up until I spotted a tiny concrete head peeking through some bushes. I screamed “DUCK!” because I myself didn’t know what a fashion goose was at the time. Rob hit the brakes and, following what he thought was my warning, ducked his head beneath the steering wheel. I ran out and grabbed the little statue that would soon be named Rudy.