I hear quacking...

a LOT of quacking.  What the heck is going on.

Frankie comes charging into the office.  "You are NOT going to believe this!  Come, quick!"

I jump to my feet, as quickly as a rambling old woman can, and follow Frankie to the front room.

Outside at the curb is an old, beat-up, flatbed truck.  At one time I suspect it was shiny, apple red and new; but now it is mostly rust, with occasional blobs of red here and there.  Barely visible, the lettering on the side of the truck reads.

                                                             Old McDonald's Farm

Oh, thank goodness, someone must have read my message from a few days ago, and on my behalf has contacted Farmer McDonald to come for my feathered menagerie.  I breathe a sigh of relief.

Farmer McDonald appears to be my age, and is attired exactly the way YOUR imagination pictures him.
Worn, tattered denim coveralls, heavy winter flannel shirt, and a tan cowboy hat, with a head band stained with years and years of summer toil.

I open the door and shout "Hello There.  Can I help you?"
Farmer McDonald:  "Nope,  jes' got a little somethin' for ya."

Quack, quack, quack, quack.....quack.  One by one Farmer McDonald removes crates from the back of his battered truck and struggles to bring them into my living room.

Frankie is going around in circles...muttering..."OMG....OMG....OMG"
"Frankie." I shout,  "That is not helping."
Frankie:  "OMG, OMG, OMG."

By the time Farmer McDonald is done, there are six crates each containing a large, very large white goose all sitting just inside my living room door.  "Sign here," he says,  "don't feed 'em too much today, they've already 'et."

Reluctantly, I sign the receipt, and I watch Farmer McDonald return to his truck.  Well, so much for hoping he would take my growing feathered family.

Frankie and I collapse onto the sofa and I read the note that was stapled to the top of one of the crates.

"My dear, true, love, I've heard the white goose is associated with Aphrodite, the Greek goddess of love'  I hope these birds show you the deep affection I have for you."

Suddenly, one of the geese lets out an ear-splitting Q-U-A-ccc-kkk!!!!  An egg rolls out of the crate.  Frankie gasps.  I, on the other hand realize what these creatures are...THE SIX GEESE A-LAYING, from the Christmas song, 'The twelve days of Christmas.'  OMG, OMG, OMG.  

There is much quacking, eggs are dropping like bombs inside the crates, rolling hither and yon.  Frankie can barely keep up with their mass production.  I thought fowl only laid one egg a day...are these creatures magical?  I'm hoping all my friends are in need of fresh eggs for holiday baking because I intend to get busy and call everyone I know to tell them not to put a dozen eggs on their shopping lists.

After a while, the quacking, and egg laying stops and Frankie and I breathe a sigh of relief.  We have slumped back in uncomfortable heaps on the sofa.  Neither of us speak for a while.

Frankie:  "Is this egg laying going to happen every morning?"
Me:  "I've not a clue."

More silence.

Frankie:  "You know what?"
Me:  "What?"


Frankie:  "Not a damn one of them has laid a golden egg."