What's Good for the Goose

I've churned out about all the heavy posting I can produce for a while. That series wore me out. And therefore I turn now to more fluffy stuff.  Or would that be feathery stuff?

Emilee and her dad were visiting this weekend.  He's one of Husband's former students, and had come over from the West Side (otherwise known as the Wet Side) to see his 14-year old daughter who lives in a town about a hour from us. They accepted an old invitation to land here for a day or two.

On Saturday evening we walked over to Lions' Park as the light was growing long and golden. Emilee was enchanted by the variety of feathered friends staking their claim to the lawn near the pond, and took off to see if she could get up close and personal. Her goal?  To catch one of the birds and cuddle it a bit. Yeah, right.

Twittering and pleading with the ducks didn't seem to entice them to strike up an acquaintance with Emilee. In fact, our snobbish feathered friends simply turned their backs and either waddled or flapped off in the other direction, dropping "gifties" on the lawn as they went. All of which was quite disappointing to our young red-haired friend.

Over by the swing sets were a lovely gaggle of snow-white geese, taller than my knees by a fair piece. I sauntered...no, sidled... over in their direction, pulling out my camera along the way.  The gander eyed me with what I concluded was quite some suspicion. Wanting to show that I was no threat to him and his lovely ladies, I stepped over to a bench and sat down, putting me much closer to eye level with him. It was a gesture of some sort that even I couldn't categorize, but apparently it was not a helpful one.

The gander stretched and posed, all the while keeping his beady eye fixed on me. Then he stepped my way.  I didn't make any escape, instead sitting still and thinking that he might soon lose interest. Husband and Emilee's dad stood watching from a little ways off, providing what they deemed amusing commentary on the dynamics of my situation.

The gander waddled right up to me, looked at me for a few moments, and when I didn't deliver what he wanted (food?  fear?) he reached down and gave a decided peck upon my sandal buckle, catching a little skin with it.

That was it. Muttering invectives at the old white-coated fowl, I rose in indignation and stalked off regally, the laughter of the men following me.

And that's about as far as I got in the wild goose chase of this weekend.