On the Trail

Honk If You Love Geese

I was sitting close to the shore of a local lake, minding my own business, when they arrived. No earplug on earth has yet been invented to muffle the squawks of an irate Canada Goose, whose call various ornithologists describe as "ah-honk, ka-ronk or ka-lunk."

A massive bird flung his wings wide in a brisk and menacing gesture, sending a shower of water droplets into the air and casting an avian Dracula shadow on the sand. Two unfortunate members of his tribe were checking out a nearby lawn when His Royal Honkness arrived with a chip on his flight feathers. Faster than any crazed dog I’ve ever witnessed tearing after a hated feline, the gander charged the other two geese. (Ganders, or male geese, may weigh between 13-18 pounds and are known to defend the goose on her nest.)

Ducks may waddle, but here was the originator of the goose-step in action.

Wow, but that bird could move. Neck extended, bill open wide, hissing with fury, he went gunning for the other two birds, vaguely resembling a power lawnmower gone berserk. Clearly startled at the belligerent arrival’s behavior, the others vamoosed.

Hair-trigger Honkin’ Henry returned to shore where two turkey-shaped gray goslings received the "all’s clear" to make a landfall with Mom. The little guys were cute, probably half-grown, fuzzy, plump and mellow. After toddling about they just happened in the direction I was seated.

"Shoo," I whispered urgently at them. Seated on the ground I was feeling particularly vulnerable if Harold the Harried Honker found my presence as intolerable as his fellow geese.

The parents turned to follow their young. Four Canadian nationals with very big bills were approaching on my unprotected flank. It was then I realized they were after my lunch, which I’d spread out picnic-style beside me. Now that made me as fightin’ mad as Bronson the brawling Branta canadensis.

"No!" I said, scooping my stuff inside my backpack. They heard the unmistakable crunch of a chips bag and quickened their pace.

What is this with critters and the sound of people food wrappers anyway? My dog sleeps soundly through demolition work going on next door yet if I crack open a bag of some restaurant leftovers in my kitchen, she’s front and center in a flash.

Staring down the feathered foursome I had a thought—fling some chips at them then beat a retreat. But even humans shouldn’t be consuming these chips, they’re so full of grotesque ingredients, so I had a pang of guilt about using them as cover to make my escape. And what if Hamlet the Overheated Honker disapproved of the flavor?

I could see this scenario as a nightmare-in-the-making: small human fleeing big goose incensed because the Doritos proffered weren’t jalapeno-flavored.

Somewhat involuntarily I stood up, only to find myself backed against a wall. I looked from the mild-mannered goslings to their aggressive elders, or what they were to turn into in a few more months. I needed reinforcements, if not the U.S. Cavalry, if not some bird-savvy somebody to dissuade the hellbent honkers from committing mayhem.

Just in time a kid with a puppy showed up. This was a bit of luck for me but ill timing for the innocent pup. It was leashed and a good distance away, but Honker Pere radar is uncanny.

Hissing to beat the band, he went hurtling past me. These aren’t graceful birds on land except at a dead run when they could—with a number flapping on their backs and a Nike swoosh showing somewhere on their persons—easily pass for sprinters at a track meet.

Both the kid and the puppy started bawling simultaneously. Buford the Bully Goose kept on charging.

"Pick up the dog!" I hollered and the kid reeled in a squirming ball of terrified fluff and tried to hoist it into his arms in a good demonstration of why children should probably not be entrusted with the unsupervised handling of pets or their younger siblings.

He pulled at the puppy as if it were made out of elastic or taffy. It tumbled, bounced, stretched, collapsed like a Slinky then expanded like an accordion as the kid yanked desperately.

I ran at the goose waving my arms and stamping my feet like a flamenco dancer, thinking I’d divert it. It worked—the gander turned on me instead.

"Run!" the kid yelled. The goose loomed larger than a compact car. I made like a toreador to deflect his raging bull sallies. His mate emitted some muttered chiding comments although these may have been directed at me. But that got his attention. They exchanged some heated squawks—a domestic spat I guessed, something about setting a bad example for the children.

Like a receding tsunami the geese withdrew to the lake, leaving the rubble of our shocked psyches and wounded egos on the shore. Hounded by honkers. Sheesh.

"Anybody asks, this never happened," I said to the kid.

"Right," he agreed as the puppy piddled on his shoes. "Definitely."