It was the Greek goddess Hera who created the goose that lays golden eggs, as a reward for an impoverished priestess who faithfully served the Queen of the Gods in one of her more remote temples. The single golden egg that the goose laid once a month was more than enough to take care of the needs of the priestess, with enough left over to take care of the needs of the tiny temple itself. When the priestess died, the goose disappeared and was never heard of again until centuries later, when Aesop wrote his tale about it. But how the fableist knew of the goose is one of those tales lost to history. Also lost was the given name of the goose, and so she remained known only as "The Goose That Lays the Golden Egg" in the inventory of the Library's holdings. At least, that is, until Jenkins arrived and took up his duties as the Library's Caretaker. Abhorring loose ends, he promptly gave the poor creature a proper name.
"Gertrudis! There you are!" Jenkins chided gently, a faint scowl of disapproval on his face. His reproach was directed at the abnormally large goose, her plumage so flawless white that she almost shimmered in direct light. She had escaped her enclosure a few days prior, and Jenkins had been frantically tearing the Library apart in his search for the wayward bird. He finally found her in the Classical Wing, where she'd aptly used Hestia's voluminous and gauzy himation to fashion a cozy nest of sorts in the space between the wall and Hephaestus' Anvil.
"Wicked girl! I should've known you be in here!" he muttered, and bent over to pick Gertrudis up. To his dismay, however, the goose stretched out her long neck and hissed loudly at him. The man's shoulders dropped. Hissing while sitting on a nest meant only one thing: Gertrudis had laid another egg.
"Gertrudis," he sighed, shaking his head in pity as he stood upright. "We've been through this already; solid gold eggs simply will not hatch!" He'd told the goose this many times before, hundreds of times, in fact, but of course geese don't understand human speech, let alone logic. Gertrudis, despite being magical, was still only a goose following her instincts to procreate. Now Jenkins had to not only recapture Gertrudis and get her back to the safety of her proper enclosure, he had to steal another of her eggs from her as well. And Gertrudis was, if nothing else, a very protective mother.
"Come along now, Gertrudis," he said firmly, mentally preparing himself for what was coming. "Time to go back where you belong, my girl!" He bent and quickly placed his hands on either side of the growling goose before she could react. He plucked her out from behind the anvil and glanced into the nest. Sure enough, there was the egg, shiny and golden, smack in the middle of the wadded cloth.
Gertrudis began to struggle against Jenkins's hold on her, squawking loudly in protest the entire time before she finally managed to slip out of his hands and plopped onto the floor. At once she spun around to face him and spread her big snowy wings, her head dropping down low as she hissed angrily at the old Caretaker.
"Oh, stop that, right now!" he snapped in irritation. As if he didn't have anything else to do today besides chase stubborn geese! He leaned forward, stretching his long arm over the infuriated goose's back in an attempt to pluck the golden egg from its nest. Gertrudis, however, was having none of it. With an ear-piercing honk of outrage, she flapped her wings, striking surprisingly powerful blows against the outsides of his thighs as she tried to chase off the much larger human. When he failed to back down, Gertrudis' head shot forward, aiming straight for his crotch. Even through the fabric of his trousers and undershorts, Jenkins fully felt it when her large, powerful bill clamped down on one of his testicles—hard.
The immortal yelped in pain and jumped backward from the enraged goose, but she held on and he ended up dragging her with him across the floor. Once out in the open, Gertrudis released him and his hands instantly went to his smarting genitals. The goose took advantage of the opening and flapped her wings again, this time becoming airborne just enough to strike him repeated with her wings about the shoulders and head, honking loudly all the while. Jenkins covered his head and face with his arms and stumbled backward, squawking curses until Gertrudis judged he was far enough away from her nest and its precious egg. She stopped flapping and dropped back to the floor, then waddled quickly back to her nest, her tail feathers wagging in triumph.
Jenkins gingerly rubbed his groin and glared after the smug goose. "Oh, no you don't!" he muttered under his breath. Ignoring the throbbing in his crotch, he darted forward to grab the goose again before she could settle back onto her egg. Taken from behind, her wings were now firmly pinned to her body, her webbed feet flailing wildly in the air. Gertrudis honked shrilly in objection as Jenkins swung around and hurried over to the large dog crate he'd brought with him. He bent over and quickly stuffed the incensed goose into the crate and slammed the wire door closed. Gertrudis spun around and tried biting his fingers as he fastened the latch, but to her disappointment was unable to inflict much damage this time.
"There!" Jenkins sighed in satisfaction as he stood up and brushed goose down from his sleeves and trousers. He went back to the nest, picked up the heavy egg and slipped it into a strong leather pouch, then quickly dismantled the nest. After everything had been put to rights again, he went back to Gertrudis and peeked inside the crate. She was much calmer now, sitting in the very back of the crate, apparently resigned to her latest loss. When she saw Jenkins peering at her, Gertrudis turned to give him a forlorn look. She whined softly, a sound that almost sounded like crying. A sharp stab of guilt pierced his heart.
"I'm very sorry, Gertrudis," he said aloud, as if the goose could actually understand his words. He genuinely felt badly for the poor creature, despite her assaulting his privates. "I wish there was something I could do for you, but there's just no magic that can turn a golden egg into a real one." Which suddenly struck him as odd, since there was magic that could turn a real egg into gold. The only response Gertrudis made to his remark was to tuck her head beneath a wing and softly cry.
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"Jenkins! Jenkins!"
The immortal looked up from his work as Cassandra ran into the workroom from the corridor that led to the front door of the Annex. He was at once alarmed to see her near tears as she clutched both of her hands to her chest. He hopped off of his stool and hurried out from behind his desk to meet her.
"Cassandra! What happened? Are you hurt?" he demanded tersely, his eyes automatically sweeping her body. It was then that he heard a faint peeping coming from her hands. His brow furrowed. "What's that?"
"Look!" Cassandra said. She lowered her cupped hands and opened them. Inside was a tiny duckling, breathing hard in fear and confusion as it blinked against the sudden light. Cassandra raised the tiny bird to her face a cuddled it against her cheek.
"I found her in the park," she explained, "Her mother was dead and it looked like she'd been partially eaten! She was there with her, all alone, just crying for her mom!" She nuzzled the little ball of downy fluff and stared up at her husband with wide blue, beseeching eyes. "I couldn't just leave her there all alone!" Jenkins looked as though he was going to scold her at first, but then his expression softened and he nodded in understanding.
"Of course you couldn't," he murmured. Though it could be exasperating at times, one of the things he loved most about his wife was that she shared a tender heart with him for lost or injured animals. He reached out and stroked the duckling with the back of one finger. "The question now is, what do we do with her?" It was a rhetorical question; he already knew what Cassandra's answer was going to be.
"Can't we keep her here? Just until she's old enough to take care of herself?" she asked. Jenkins smiled, amused by their little dance. The woman bloody well knew already that he would do whatever she asked of him, but she still pretended that he could say 'no' to her. He opened his mouth to say as much in his tartest tone when an idea suddenly struck him. His mouth closed and he cocked his head, thinking.
"What?" Cassandra asked, her brows beetling at the sudden change in his expression. Jenkins raised his head and smiled.
"Come with me, my dear," he said, "I have an idea!"
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Jenkins gently took the peeping duckling from his wife's hands and carried it toward the large white goose. Gertrudis, still mourning the loss of her egg, was hunched on the grassy ground of her enclosure, her head hidden beneath her wing. Jenkins knelt on the grass next to her; Cassandra stood behind him, peering curiously over his shoulder at the largest, most beautiful white goose she had ever seen. She was just about to ask what kind of goose it was when Jenkins began to speak.
"Gertrudis," he called softly, "Look, Gertrudis—I have a wonderful little surprise for you!" He set the tiny duckling onto the grass and turned it loose. It gave its body a good shaking and then peeped loudly. Cassandra started to say something, but Jenkins held up his hand. "Wait," he whispered.
At the sound of the duckling's cries, Gertrudis's head came out from beneath her wing and she began to look around. She quickly spotted the little ball of black and yellow in front of her and she instantly rose to her feet. The duckling's peeping at once became louder and more excited. Gertrudis lowered her head to more closely examine the newcomer, and when she realized that it was a very small baby of the waterfowl variety, she threw her head back on its long neck, opened her wings and honked, loudly and joyously. She walked all the way around the little one, her tail wagging excitedly as she grunted softly. The duckling spun in place as she followed Gertrudis' every move, then ran to her when she stopped moving, peeping her own happiness at seeing a vaguely familiar form. Gertrudis lowered her head again to tenderly nuzzle the little duckling, then turned and began to waddle toward the large pond that was nearby. The duckling instantly fell in behind her, her tiny legs working furiously to keep up with her new mother.
Jenkins stood up, clasped his hands together in front of him and sighed, pleased, as he watched the pair enter the pond and begin to swim. Cassandra came to stand next to him, her arm hooking around his elbow.
"Looks like you made someone very happy," she said, and turned her head to look up at him proudly. He snorted quietly and smiled, his eyes still fixed on the little family.
"Some things are worth far more than gold," he answered cryptically. He smiled down into her perplexed face, then, without another word, he turned and strode away, Cassandra hurrying to keep up with him as she began peppering him with questions.