When it rains, the geese take over the greenspace near the
Providence River. There are usually at least a couple dozen of them – big fat
waddlers, with beautiful light-and-dark markings. I took this photo yesterday morning:
Lots of good eatin’ there! But wild geese are tough. My sister and brother-in-law had
some wild geese fly over their farm back in the 1970s, and shot a few, and
Susan prepared one for Thanksgiving, and – well, we couldn’t even chew it. Wild
geese get a lot of exercise.
And geese are rumored to be foul-tempered. I’m always a
little timid when they’re standing in front of me on the sidewalk; I never know
when I’m gonna get stampeded and squawked at. They’re smaller than me,
individually, but they outnumber me. They could swarm me.
And then there are the poops. Kids, there is nothing in the
world quite so vile-looking as a goose poop. It’s a big green slimy-looking
thing about the size of a small cigar. And geese poop a lot. (My mother always used the expression “go like a goose.”
Evidently she knew what she was talking about.)
But I like to watch them. The other day, I saw two of them
pecking at one another, running around aimlessly in a circle and honking.
Get it? Wild goose chase.
Ha ha.
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