I remember it like it was yesterday. We would leave the house, get in the car, then drive across the street to the State Hospital, where the crazies are locked up, and the slightly reformed crazies are allowed access to the grounds where they waited for Blake and me to take our walk, which was the high point of their day.
It was a beautiful place for a stroll. There were tree-lined paths, lots of vermin to chase, shady areas on hot days, a scarcity of traffic, and abandoned buildings where the worst experiments done on humans were performed in the first half of the 20th century. Blake and I looked in the windows, growled, and then barked like we saw something. We didn’t, but it freaked out the humans and gave us a chuckle.
The grounds were a little bit of paradise until one day in August; the geese showed up. We got out of the car and went as far as our leashes could stretch, chasing them away or at least a few feet further south. We were just playing. We didn’t mind other species sharing our walking area, but then we found a goose secret: They are flying pigs.
There was geese poop everywhere. I found it disgusting and tried to tip-paw my way through it. Blake thought it was a free buffet and wanted to eat it all. No wonder she went to the Bridge prematurely.
After her passing, I walked with three other siblings on the grounds, and Blake was the only poop eater. The rest of them thought the birds spoiled a good walk.
When we moved to our little village, we thought we had escaped from the pooping faux penguins, but this year, they found us and ruined the beautiful green front walking area with their disgusting poop.
This time I was an angel and could not chase them off. I would not mind their decamping on our site, but River Song shows an unnatural attraction to the poop, and no one wants another goose poop eating face licker.
I went to the bird section of the Bridge. Usually, this time of year, I will check out the new bird lines that came out for spring. But I bypassed that area and found a vast field where millions of geese were gathered. I asked to speak to their leader and was brought to a black and white bird who looked exactly like all the rest. I did not mention it. Birds are sensitive about their lack of uniqueness.
I asked him if the geese might poop somewhere else not to be a temptation to River. The leader, who said his name was Mark, checked the maps. “Oh no, that is a fantastic spot, great soil, lots of worms under it. I couldn’t possibly ask them to relocate.”
“Can you ask them to stop pooping there?”
The goose laughed. “We do four things, we fly, we eat, we poop, and we make little geese.”
“But, you poop as you eat, isn’t that disgusting?”
“Not for us. We keep the sphincter wide open. It is better for digestion.”
I hate to leave any negotiation without getting something, but these geese were intractable. “Can you at least stay out of my yard?” I asked. Since they had no interest in that spit of land, they agreed.
I flew into Pocket’s dreams and told her the good news. The geese would not hang out in our yard!
“But they aren’t now. They have taken over the land by the office and barn.”
“Dammit, Pocket,” I said. “It may not have been everything you wanted, but it’s something.”
“It’s not,” she said as I zipped out