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- Story Listed as: True Life For Adults
- Theme: Action & Adventure
- Subject: Nature & Wildlife
- Published: 04/14/2019
Wild Goose Attack
Born 1954, M, from Cocoa Beach/FL, United States.jpeg)
Wild Goose Attack
“Look over there,” Lee, said. “It’s a goose.”
I pulled my truck off Farm Road 150 and looked at one of the Kyle, Texas sewer plant ponds a mile from Mom’s ranch.
“Where do you see a goose?” I asked.
“Over there in the corner,” he pointed to the far side of the pond, fifty yards across the roadside barbed wire fence.
Sure enough, a Canadian goose with a black head and white neck sat on the water in front of a bush on the shoreline. Not moving. Staring our way. What a mystery. This was April, long after hunting season ended and geese in Texas migrated north.
“You have good eyes. Geese are rarely around here. I wonder why he’s this far west of his wintering grounds over around Houston.”
“Could be it’s hurt.”
We watched for a minute or two and thought about this unusual site. We were on our way to Mom’s ranch to fish and escape from another day of study during our senior year of college at the University of Texas. However, this could be a worthwhile diversion.
“Maybe we can sneak up on it,” Lee said with a grin.
Easier said than done. The City had recently mowed the sidebanks, leaving little cover for us to hide behind. I nodded and backed the truck up to an aluminum gate just out of sight of the pond. Gates were easier to climb than barbed wire fence. Our camouflaged shirts and hats would help on this sneaky incursion. We silently slipped over the gate and walked in a crouch to the backside of the small dam around the pond. I motioned for Lee to follow me up the embankment. On hands and knees, I slowly crawled and peeked over the edge. The large goose floated just twenty feet. My heart pounded. Birds were never this close when I hunted them. I shifted to a position behind a bush and inched closer to the large bird. When Lee came over the bank behind me, the goose honked in surprise. It flapped four-foot wings and ran across the water to slowly rise and fly away.
“There has to be a reason it’s here” I said. “Look around that bush and see what you find.”
Lee pushed tall grass away from the base of the bush to reveal five large, white eggs cuddled in feathers.
“There’s a nest,” he said with surprise.
Before I could respond, an angry, honking Canadian goose erupted from the grass and charged with flapping brown wings at Lee. We yelled and jumped back in surprise. The bird stopped in front of the nest and stood its ground, telling us in no uncertain terms not to trespass on the nest.
“I can’t believe there’s a goose nest here,” said Lee.
“One of them must be wounded and couldn’t fly home. The other one stayed here because they mate for life.”
“Watch out,” shouted Lee.
I turned to see the other goose dive bombing me, it’s beak two feet from my face. I spun and fell to the ground as the angry bird swooped over me. I hit and rolled. Down the bank and into the sewer pond. Splash. Lee erupted with laughter as I cursed and waded back to shore. The disabled goose charged me, blaring wildly as its mate turned around and landed by the nest. Both Canadians faced us with spread wings and honked defiantly. We scrambled away from the crazy birds and watched from afar as they inspected their nest.
“That goose could’ve really hurt you,” Lee said, with a laugh.
“You got that right. Probably would have taken an eye out.”
“You’re lucky. And smelly.”
“Let’s go fishing.”
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