Seasonal guests have the upper hand
I don’t want to get your hopes up unnecessarily, but – pssst – I think spring is finally springing.
I know this how? Not because of my flowering daffodils and tulips. Not because my crabapple is resplendent with blossom. Not because we can at last open doors and windows. Nay nay. As our resident ducks breast up to the seasonal buffet provided by our good selves, I know spring has truly arrived because of the return of our thankfully non-fully-resident geese.
Yes dear reader, Stanley and Stella are ba-ack.
I’m not sure what it is, but this activity sends Sir in somewhat of a tizzy.
If you recall, we’ve gone through a wealth of goosey deterrents.
It started with Sir barging out the back door, waving is arms in somewhat of a lunatic fashion and doing a great deal of yelling hurtful epithets at our feathered invaders.
This, naturally, resulted in the geese walking casually off about ten feet and looking slightly insulted.
Sir then graduated to the hurling of brooms and rakes, but, sadly, all that proved was that he had no shot at entering the javelin at the next Olympics.
Onward and upward, Sir then resorted to the hose. He was determined to jet these birds in the direction of off, despite my chuckling reminder that as water birds they probably wouldn’t mind a little watering at all. That phase of #$&@ off goose came to a grinding halt when two things happened. He ran to the end of the hose’s length, nearly bungeeing himself back into the house, while at the same time letting loose the water in what he gleefully thought was going to be an unwelcome sharp smack of spray, only to find he’d misadjusted the nozzle reading and gave them a very stern misting.
Upping the stakes, he took himself off to Walmart – a feat of bravery in itself I might add – and purchased, to my horror, a BB gun. His first foray to the deck resulted in the realization he’d misloaded the damn thing, and all the BBs fell out the back. Not to be put off, he satisfied himself it would indeed fire a stinging pellet, he assumed the stance and fired – shall we say a tad off aim, to be kind.
I set up an empty soda can in a flower pot and suggested he do a little target practice, a lesson cut very short when a pellet hit the deck railing and ricocheted back into the kitchen, pinging off the pantry door six inches from my head.
Not long after, the gun was relegated to the trash as it frankly "didn’t work." Vietnam vet, my eye.
Now we’re going all a bit David and Goliath – the geese in the role of the giant, Sir being the brave David. Evidently, despite his being in the minor leagues in baseball some decades past, his throwing arm is, well, rubbish.
"I’m going to get me an air rifle," he huffed ungrammatically over the weekend.
Hate to tell you this petal, but I believe your goose is cooked. You’ve become quite Quixotic, tilting at that which is unobtainable.
I’m afraid it’s all a bit of a wild goose chase.
Annie Dear lives in Lee’s Summit. Email her at email@example.com.