They take their time, waddling across the parking lot. They don’t abide by the honk of a car horn; only the honking of their brethren. If they had lips, they would sneer as I try to wind my car around them. If they had fingers, they would flick off those cars who dare to stray too close to the flock. They defend their nests with a fierceness only a mother could know.
They don’t understand the ‘daily grind’, nor would they want to. They’re content to take a parking spot or twelve. They’re pleased when they can scare the wits out of an innocent walker-by. Sometimes, I hear laughter in their conversations. I know people who have been run down by a goose protecting its nest. I’ve seen a car being attacked by a goose, for the mere suggestion that the car had the right to that parking spot. I’ve listened to the story of a coworker stuck inside her car because a goose decided that it didn’t want to let her out.
These geese aren’t friendly to just anyone. I’m one of the lucky ones; somehow, some way, they like me. I can walk within a foot of one of them, and they’ll just watch me walk on by. I’ve pulled my car into a parking spot next to one of them and they don’t flap a wing at me. If one does try to initiate a conversation with me, I honk right back.
I’m very lucky. Not because I don’t get attacked, but because I get to see these lovely creatures up close. They trust me, and I respect them. Some days, I think it would be grand to be a goose. Answering to no one, listening to no one, obeying no one. Holding my ground to make a two thousand pound car go around me. Defending my territory, even though it was paved over decades ago and no longer resembles the grassland my ancestors knew. To take wing to northern shores with my brothers and sisters, with nothing but food and shelter to worry about.
Yes, I think it would be grand to be a goose.