As my husband and I rode our tandem, we saw ponds swarming with geese. During fall, migrating Canada geese often stop at local lakes to visit their less adventurous relatives. But the family reunions we saw resembled WWE smackdowns.
Why all the honkin’ hullaballoo?
I suppose if my relations and I were floating in a pond with a temperature of 30 degrees, we might get a little cantankerous. Especially if some had just flown in from Canada. Everybody knows flying isn’t what it used to be. Geese don’t receive miles rewards. Plus, security measures really ruffle their feathers.
Already grumpy, they arrive for annual stays with kinfolk who didn’t invite them. Locals resent sharing their homes and food with these moochers every year — especially since their lucky visitors anticipate months at the beach.
Itinerary controversies only add to hostilities. Some migrating geese—especially moms and grandmas—are still upset at leaving before the holidays. Their golfing husbands want to hit the Florida greens early and won’t wait till after Christmas. Also, some like Georgia better; some, California; and those really dedicated to the wild life want Cancun.
The geese also disagree about who travels with whom:
Gander Guy: If you think we’re flying south with your mother, you’re out of your mind.
Goose Lady: If you think we’re flying with your cousin Vinnie, you’re seriously mistaken. His children are a bad influence on our kids.
Gander Guy: But Vinnie knows all the good places to eat along the way.
Goose Lady: And the best places to drink. Let’s compromise. We’ll fly with my Uncle George and Aunt Myrna.
Gander Guy: Great idea. She’ll want to stop at every outlet mall between here and Tallahassee. The last time we followed George, we ended up in downtown Detroit.
Goose Lady: But Myrna gave him a GPS for his birthday. …
Multiply this conversation several thousand times, add it to the kinfolk-versus-moochers controversy, and an Indiana farm pond’s Threat Level jumps.
Right now, it’s at red. Steve and I have enjoyed eavesdropping — from a safe distance. But we’re ready to leave this uncivilized bunch.
Besides, I’m hungry. “Where do you want to eat?”
“Let’s wait till we get home. Riding at twilight isn’t safe.”
My bicycle seat feels like a bed of nails. “I can’t ride home until I eat and rest.”
“If we hadn’t rested so long earlier, we might have time to eat.”
Grrr! But I decide to do the Christian thing: forgive him — and never let him forget it.
“Honnnk! Squonnnnk-honk-honk-honk!” The Goose Wars erupt again.
Too bad they’re not smart, like us.
How about you? Any honkin’ hullaballoo, goose or human, where you live?