No kidding.
We have about 3428934754039823462349240 geese per square mile, and they are reproducing at a disturbing rate.
Sure, it’s cute at first. Around April, the parking lots and medians are filled with families of little goslings, all fluffy and unbalanced, walking in neat single file lines across the road. And really, it IS amazing that an animal as stupid as a Canada goose can fully grasp the concept of roadways. Their brains may be the size of raisin, but they are aware enough to understand that roadways are cars only. They gather in a group, walk (albeit, slowly) across the street, and re-congregate on the other side. Unbelieveable. My dog on the other hand—you know, the one who has a 50-word vocabulary—thinks nothing of dashing haphazardly across the road in pursuit of a small furry animal. Or…pooping in a crosswalk as the light turns green (true story). It just goes to show you that overall intelligence is not so easily discerned.
But, by mid-June, this phenomenon is significantly less endearing. Sure, they may have a few tufts of baby down sticking out between their feathers, but overall, these goslings have turned into geese. Big, mean, brazen geese. They hiss when you walk by them. They poop in the parking lot. They take their sweet-ass time crossing the road, always when you’re running late for work. They’re everywhere, and just one look into their cold, dead eyes (like doll’s eyes, I tell you) has me convinced that they’re plotting a hostile takeover of the municipality.
I have a growing suspicion that a time is going to come when it’s either them or me.
But let it be said for the record, I’m not above eating a Canada goose. I think it’s high time that we introduce these flying vermin to some “natural predators.” And by “natural predators,” I mean myself, dressed in camouflage, hiding in the bushes outside of my office with blow-darts and a potato sack.
I’ll give you a minute to conjure up that image.
Oh yeah, Imma eat me one of those bitches.
I mean, why not? In these hard economic times, we have to be creative in our ways to make ends meet. I figure a large male Canada goose could feed me and Brian for a week, maybe more. And these things are so damn domesticated, I could probably walk right up to one and clock it in the head.
Just like that, dinner is served.
So if you’re hungry, come on over. Have a nice glass of Pino and enjoy the aromas wafting from the oven. Just don’t ask me what we’re eating or what I used that potato sack for.
Trust me, you don’t want to know.
Sure, it’s cute at first. Around April, the parking lots and medians are filled with families of little goslings, all fluffy and unbalanced, walking in neat single file lines across the road. And really, it IS amazing that an animal as stupid as a Canada goose can fully grasp the concept of roadways. Their brains may be the size of raisin, but they are aware enough to understand that roadways are cars only. They gather in a group, walk (albeit, slowly) across the street, and re-congregate on the other side. Unbelieveable. My dog on the other hand—you know, the one who has a 50-word vocabulary—thinks nothing of dashing haphazardly across the road in pursuit of a small furry animal. Or…pooping in a crosswalk as the light turns green (true story). It just goes to show you that overall intelligence is not so easily discerned.
But, by mid-June, this phenomenon is significantly less endearing. Sure, they may have a few tufts of baby down sticking out between their feathers, but overall, these goslings have turned into geese. Big, mean, brazen geese. They hiss when you walk by them. They poop in the parking lot. They take their sweet-ass time crossing the road, always when you’re running late for work. They’re everywhere, and just one look into their cold, dead eyes (like doll’s eyes, I tell you) has me convinced that they’re plotting a hostile takeover of the municipality.
I have a growing suspicion that a time is going to come when it’s either them or me.
But let it be said for the record, I’m not above eating a Canada goose. I think it’s high time that we introduce these flying vermin to some “natural predators.” And by “natural predators,” I mean myself, dressed in camouflage, hiding in the bushes outside of my office with blow-darts and a potato sack.
I’ll give you a minute to conjure up that image.
Oh yeah, Imma eat me one of those bitches.
I mean, why not? In these hard economic times, we have to be creative in our ways to make ends meet. I figure a large male Canada goose could feed me and Brian for a week, maybe more. And these things are so damn domesticated, I could probably walk right up to one and clock it in the head.
Just like that, dinner is served.
So if you’re hungry, come on over. Have a nice glass of Pino and enjoy the aromas wafting from the oven. Just don’t ask me what we’re eating or what I used that potato sack for.
Trust me, you don’t want to know.
9 comments:
I can see how it could go from "cute little goslings" to "all-you-can-eat". On the plus side, at least we keep the mosquito population up here. We can't eat them either - they eat us. With gusto.
I hate - HATE - Canadian geese. This causes me all sorts of angsty feelings of guilt because I am, you know, Canadian. goddammit.
Note to self: Don't take up Lily on her invitation to come over for "turkey."
ugh fucking nasty Canadian geese! or if you live in western NY, you call them honkers. making their name cuter doesn't not take away from the fact that disgusting birds
I spit my gum out when you said Imma eat one of those bitches.
Hilarious. I mean I'm sure they taste like chicken... I think everything does. Clearly I don't have a very defined idea of what chicken tastes like.
Since you asked nicely, I will be your friend.
geese will cut you! you are wise to watch out for those beady eyes. in other news, i would totally eat one.
Shoot their fucking asses - I do. The are pretty tasty too. (fuck me - I sound like a hillbilly).
Haha - my word verification was ingesse
3428934754039823462349240
That an assload of geese.
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