Silly Goose

A few months ago, while visiting Ohio, I went for a run.

No one else was on the trail.

Except for …

A gigantic Canadian Goose.

He stood smack in the middle of the trail as if he owned it.

His beady eyes followed me and he ruffled his gray feathers in a most unwelcoming way.

He had a real attitude.

“Um, I’m just going to squeeze by,” I said, letting him know my plan.

Goose Etiquette 101: Always state your intentions.

He didn’t budge. 

Would it have killed him to scooch?

I veered off to the very edge of the trail, giving him more than enough personal space.

I cannot emphasize how accommodating I was being.

And how did this goose thank me?

He charged at me!

With his pecky beak, incessant honking, and deceptively fast feet, it was like a high-stakes game of “Duck, Duck, Goose.”

Still, you’re probably thinking, it’s just a goose!

The name itself, “goose” conjures up images that are both fun and frivolous.

Oh, you silly goose!

But trust me, there was NOTHING silly about this goose.

This goose was all business.

HONK! HONK! HONK!

I continued to flee, his little webbed feet hot on my tail.

After several yards of chasing me, Goose finally stopped.

I slowed down and caught my breath.

As I stopped and turned to face him, I told myself, 

Don’t let him intimidate you. Remember, you’ve literally eaten his relatives.

I took a step towards him. “I’m not scared of- -”

HONK! HONK! HONK!

I squealed and bolted.

After a minute, he finally stopped chasing me, but continued to honk at me in a very aggressive manner.

(Sidenote: I now know why the car designers modeled the car horn after a goose. Much more effective than, say, the coo of a dove.)

Okay, new plan.

I would wait until Goose was distracted and then I would sneak through the grass on the side of the trail.

Goose turned his gaze from me and faced the river.

When it appeared that Goose was deep in thought, I tip-toed through the swampy grass.

“Nice Goosey-Goose,” I whispered, keeping one eye on him.

That’s when Goose whipped his neck around and his little orange feet darted at me.

His eyes were filled with rage.

It was shocking how such a hateful bird could produce such smooth vodka.

“AAAARGH!” I screamed, as he chased me completely off the sidewalk.

I had no choice but to sprint across the road.

HONK! HONK! HONK!

(Those were car horns.)

The good news is that I made it safely to the other side without getting hit.

Or eaten.

But the even better news is that I can now answer the age-old question…

Why did the chicken cross the road?