We have Canadian geese in KY. They love us so much they live here all year round. They live at both KY Lake and Lake Barkley. Do you have any messages for them, Dahlia? We are on a first name basis. Goose George and i confer quite often.
Nap they will never leave and slimey poop you and your parks. Believe me. They are protected here and alot of parks are just slippy, slidey poopy places now. I am reminded of talking to an older retired guy in Daniel Boone Park in TN when I stopped to have a picnic. He fished there ever day and cuz I talk funny in TN he asked about it and I told him I am a Canuck. He told me that he luved the Canadian Geese that had taken up residence in the park. I didn't have the heart to tell him that it was like the invasion of the Trifods or the Pod Creatures or Tribbles but mostly HUMUNGOUS POOPER ALIENS and once they come they will never, ever, ever leave. They just multiply and poop. SORRY CANADIAN GEESE everywhere but GEESH even you have to admit you are major poopers.
I ate a Canadian Goose one Thanksgiving.... thank you, Canada. This bird was huge!
We have Canadian Geese all over the place here in AZ. If you play golf you might double check your "ball" on the fairway.... could be Goose Poo.
Lovely photos, nap. Crisp, clear, inviting... and coupled with Sharon's story, enchanting. Truly the core of a short story. Between the two of you this could be such a strong piece!
Aside *** one of my favorite short stories is "The Killers" by E. Hemingway. A story told using visual metaphor.
"There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle." --Albert Einstein
~ All Things Plants, SOUTHWEST GARDENING ~Cubits.orgENERGY & POWER
Name: Cheryl Eastern Ky Truth should be everpresent.
We have the Canadian geese here also. They can really do a number on a lawn or a golf course if they set up there permanently. I have often wondered if they would be good to eat. They are huge for sure.
Oh my word. I find this old thread all lit up in red tonight and I thought for sure I'd open it up to find a story to read and here you are, Cheryl, wringing goose necks with June cheering you on. Well I guess that could be a short story all in its own. . . . .
The night was dark as she crept toward the shadows of gray that lined the western edge of the lake. The only sound was the water as it ran along the edge, back and forth, back and forth, only a very very slight motion. The gray shadows moved occasionally as the water crept up toward them, not all of them moved, just a few, there was no other movement on this dark night.
Suddenly as she crept a little closer one of the gray shadows turned, stood up, and with wide wings and a sharp beak that goose became a streak of light as he half ran, half flew toward her. And he squawked, he screamed, he alerted the officer who patrolled the park at night and suddenly huge beams were shining in her face, her eyes, she couldn't see a thing but that goose kept getting closer and closer.
She turned to run but she found herself clutching the shirt of a man in uniform; he towered over her, his light turned on the goose. He held her aside, kept the beam of his flashlight moving because other shadows turned at the ruckus and began to stretch their wings, squawking and screeching, running toward the light and the man and woman.
She opened her mouth to say to the uniform that she was only taking a stroll along the edge of the lake and she thought the shadows were rocks, but the words never sounded. Suddenly they were both covered in strong wings, trying to cover their heads, trying to get away from the beaks that were sharp and opened, then pecking pecking pecking until neither of them could stand upright any longer. They sunk to their knees and covered their heads and knelt there in the mud from the lake, covered by wide winged geese, geese that never ceased their cutting, their pecking, their strong wings covering, suffocating, relentless.
The morning patrol saw nothing more than the faint impression of a struggle on the ground. He looked around. It wasn't unusual to find remnants of a midnight picnic. Teenagers often liked to break the rules and there were 40 miles of lake edge to patrol. They couldn't get them all. But he began to see remnants of khaki and a few strips of denim here and there. And here, looks to be long dark hair, surely it is female in curl, texture, and there, a button, no, more than one, several and they were buttons that would be on a shirt. He felt a little shudder along his spine. Where was the night patrol, he would just now be leaving, going home, but where was he? They usually met each morning but not today. He was nowhere to be found. To the right of those remnants tucked behind a large piece of driftwood, he saw white, he walked closer. Feathers. Many feathers. Dark feathers, light, gray. The soil was rich, dark, and there had obviously been a scuffle in the area. As the day grew lighter, he saw more signs.
Nothing was mentioned in the newspaper about the patrol officer but a family was looking for a woman who had gone missing that night, and that news made front page headlines. "Mountain Woman Missing" and in smaller type "after leaving her home to look for a chicken to cook for Sunday dinner."
Neither the officer nor the mountain woman were ever found again.
Two trees grew in the area that had been disturbed. Cedar trees, junipers really. They grew there for years and years, taller and taller and the geese began to gather in the shelter of those two trees. Their numbers increased and the huddle they made was seen from the lake as mounds of rocks. Most boaters didn't know they were geese and most people on land avoided the area. The geese attacked them if they entered. They began to call that spot on the lake "Goose Creek" and so it is to this day.