Reading time: ( words)

Many things get the hair on the back of my neck up, but nothing more so than…

Geese.

No, really, hear me out.

I was walking around the park one day in the spring time. The air was cool but promising hints of warmth from the sun, the plants were letting loose their pollen, the grass was getting greener, and the animals were doing things that animals do in the spring.

A family of geese sat on and along the paved trail going around the park. I walked by, minding my own business, when a goose on the path started honking at me. No, not just honking. He was braying at me. Practically yelling at me in a super judgmental and condescending tone that said, “back off buddy or you are gonna get pecked.”

I thought to myself, “oh how cute, he’s protecting his children,” as I noticed a mother goose laying by the trail. Not the old motherly story-telling variety, but a big Canadian goose perched on top of what was either eggs or freshly hatched goslings. It’s hard to tell because by the time I looked at the female goose, the mother fucking daddy goose stepped up and started getting all up in my shit!

The goose pecked and bit at my feet while he spread his wings to look bigger and more insane than a meth-ed up Walmart shopper with a mullet and no shirt on Black Friday. I kept walking in spite of the attack, and as I passed I swear the goose honked out, “That’s right! Run away like a little bitch!”

And that’s why I hate geese.