As a result, Mrs P has decreed I need to get some more exercise. This has meant purchasing a stylish and suitably colourful pair of cushioned walking shoes.
And so the other day I laced them up and we hit the road for our first outing together.
When I say 'road' I actually mean the track across the wetland shores of a lake near where I live.
It is quite a stunning place with farmland on one side and wetland and the lake on the other with a fenced-off walking track bisecting then.
It was on this track I confidently strode out the other afternoon, confident I could still do a good 5km at pace and get home in time for tea.
The first part of the walk went well and I was feeling invigorated. Less so on the way back if I'm honest and my enthusiasm and concentration were wavering as I neared a grassy area adjacent to the water.
I was very quickly brought back to reality by the sound of a large goose standing a mere metre away in the grass hissing at me.
It would be fair to say I nearly lost a kilo or two on the spot if you get what I mean.
My rude awakening was exacerbated further when the beast made a lunge for me.
Now I'm not a small chap, nor am I particularly a sook, but I have to admit the advancing, hissing, obviously angry goose scared the bejeezus out of me and I rapidly backtracked.
After some 20 yards I took stock of the stand-off situation.
Come on. This is silly. It's just a goose. Surely if I come over all cow-cockie tough and march towards it clapping my hands and yelling something like "Get away!" it will move. Won't it?
Nope.
In fact, it seemed to take my approach as even more of a threat and the hissing and flapping of wings became even more aggressive.
Then I thought maybe I'd just run past. I mean what's the worst that could happen? It might nip me but surely it wouldn't hurt that much. Would it?
I looked down at my new shoes, did a half stretch, and started running at the small gap between the beast and the six-strand wire fence alongside us.
After two paces I knew I wasn't going to make it without suffering an injury. I think the goose knew it too. I'm not sure but he may have been laughing.
About this time, with the monster bearing down on me, I made a split-second decision to hurdle the wire fence into the paddock.
I have to say I was somewhat surprised at my hurdling ability. These days my knees squeak when I walk up stairs so hurdling a fence is not really on my daily to-do list but I cleared it with ease.
Unfortunately, my landing didn't go so well and one of my new shoes landed in a fresh cowpat.
There was nothing to do about it now other than sprint 10 or 20 metres through the field to a point I could hop over the fence again and get back on the track on the other side of my nemesis.
That part of the plan went equally well until I discovered there was no bone, ligament, or muscle in my body willing to vault over the metre-high fence a second time in five minutes. So I had to climb over.
I don't know whether it was the adrenaline coursing through my veins or the fact the cow poo on my shoes made them slippery but somehow I didn't get an adequate footing on one of the wires and I crashed over into the grass on the other side, thankfully right next to the track.
It was then I discovered geese are beasts not to be taken lightly when it comes to intelligence.
My "friend" had kept an eye on my clumsy shenanigans in the field and had merely sauntered back along the track to where I had rejoined it and now here he was, a yard or two away again and preparing to strike.
This time my body listened to the "get me out of here" message sent from my brain and before I knew what was happening I was sprinting off away down the track like Usain Bolt.
My newfound fitness only lasted 50 metres or so but it was enough to get me to safety and eventually my car.
Fifteen minutes later I arrived home late for tea, exhausted and bedraggled in equal measure and with one of my new shoes covered in cow poo. Mrs P was none too impressed and let me have both barrels of the verbal shotgun.
I took the telling-off philosophically.
I figured I'd happily accept a hen pecking over a bite from an angry goose any day.
• Kevin Page is a teller of tall tales with a firm belief too much serious news gives you frown lines. Feel free to share stories to editor@northernadvocate.co.nz (Kevin Page in subject field).
