Goose Therapy

After a particularly difficult tutoring session (the session consisted of Language Arts and a complete lack of motivation), I retired to the park with my PB&J and my banana. I sat on a bench by the pond. A gaggle of geese were over the little hill to my right. I’ve known geese to bite, so I was glad that they were at a safe distance. But as I started eating the my sandwich, I noticed that a little lapdog had decided to chase after the geese—at least as far as his leash would let him. His slight disturbance sent about twenty of them waddling toward me.

The geese traveled in little clusters, or cliques. One leader brought its gaggle to the grass, and they started nibbling at it. Another leader started preening itself, and the others followed. They ignored me for the most part, until I got my crackers out. The loud crackling of the plastic bag made their heads turn. A few stepped hesitantly toward me. I shook my head at them. “No, it’s not for you.” Another hesitant step and a cocked head. “No,” I said. The geese turned away and started preening again. At least they listen well.

By the water’s edge, one goose stretched its leg back behind it, making me think of the ballet, Swan Lake. With its long neck stretched one way, and its leg stretched the other way, it looked like it was practicing for a dance class. When it was done stretching, it balanced on one leg for a while and then settled down in the grass, nuzzling its head backwards between its wings.

As I got ready to leave, I paused to watch a goose preen. It pulled out a few loose feathers from its wings and dropped them on the ground. I stepped up to the goose. “Mind if I take those?” It didn’t like the invasion of its personal space, but I stepped forward anyway. As it scooted away, I gathered a few feathers for myself.

Huzzah for goose therapy; it made my day much brighter. I even made a little wall hanging from the feathers. I’ll post pictures tomorrow.

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