Marie Taylor, Ink

The tempo had changed at the little neighborhood park in the march towards summer. More people were out walking and the old oak trees that stood in contrast to the brilliant blue skies of winter were now in full leaf and throwing deep shadows on the lawns. The playground was teeming with excited children and at noon the parking lot was filled with the cars of local workers taking their lunch break at the picnic tables.

It was a short walk from my car to the small man-made pond but by the time I got there my left knee was already aching. I sat down on the park bench with relief and watched about a dozen ducks and geese splashing in the pond, dipping and diving for food.

When I noticed a movement out of the corner of my eye, I turned and saw a giant gray and white goose standing inches away. He was at least three feet high and had a large knobby protuberance at the top of his yellow bill. Although those webbed feet were large, they were silent, I thought, as I carefully looked him up and down.

He tipped his head and eyed me thoughtfully, his head weaving back and forth on the long snake-like neck. I looked back at him and had what I sometimes call a “St. Francis” moment. Here we were, I mulled, two species, each a part of the Great Circle of Life, each seeking to establish a rapport on some intimate level. A beatific smile tickled the corners of my mouth as I contemplated my continuing spiritual achievements.

That was about the same time said goose stepped closer and began bumping his chest against my left leg. My eyes widened, my mouth formed a silent O. I was about to protest when its big yellow beak pecked experimentally at my leg. Once, twice and then a machine gun tattoo rained on my knee cap. “Whoa!” I exclaimed, all thoughts of the interconnectedness of life forgotten, as I reached for my cane in the event that a hasty retreat was necessary.

The goose and I locked eyes and joined in a silent Vulcan mind meld, each wrestling for dominance. When I blinked, the connection suddenly broke and the cunning creature tossed its head and gave a great “Honk!’ It waddled away with all the arrogance of a third world dictator, its tail feathers twitching in triumph.

I slumped against the back of the bench and panted. After a moment I nonchalantly — which is like carefree only more French — threw a backward glance over my left shoulder. The belligerent bird had taken up an observatory position about ten feet behind me and was now accompanied by a heretofore unnoticed companion. Both geese were sitting in the grass, their laser beam eyes fastened on my back.

Feigning unconcern, I determined to ignore their basilisk stares. Periodically, a variety of honks and hisses issued from the pair and broke the peace of the morning. Soon I felt an unexplained burning in the center of my back accompanied by an increased tightness around my head.

I fidgeted, I twitched. After weighing the value of re-engaging the duel, I rose from the bench. I whistled a happy tune under my breath, grasped my cane and with some trepidation, which has nothing to do with tripping, set off down the path. As I crossed the parking lot, the sound of derisive honks echoed in the morning air.