One White Goose

You have to look past the molehills…

I would apologize for the blurriness of this snap, but what you can’t see is Boxnoggin’s leash wrapped about my legs as he tries desperately to make the acquaintance of a flock of Canadian geese–and one brilliant white number. I could not tell if it was albino or a domestic Anatidae that had decided to go feral, a wild white goose of some other kind hanging out with distant cousins, or a personification of the frost we’ve been having lately.

It’s a wonder I got the photo I did, frankly. Sixty-plus pounds of enthusiastic dog would have been ever so happy to drag me over every single molehill in his quest for literal gooseflesh. He had to settle for a sonic assault, which did precisely nothing but make my head ring.

I can say that the other geese were quite protective, and huddled around their semi-cryptid (if only by comparison to its fellows) relative. But Boxnoggin and I stayed far enough away to not provoke a mass flight and all the mess that entails–since, after all, they tend to unload before takeoff, like seagulls. Which took some doing; the damn dog was utterly beside himself.

“You idiot,” I kept saying, “what would you do if you caught one?” But such considerations do not belong in Boxnoggin’s head. He is a creature of the eternal Now, and at that moment his deepest longing in life was to chase some frickin’ geese.

Unfortunately (according to him) he was dragged free of the park and we continued on walkies. There might be another flock resting there today, depending on when we get out the door; I’m not really looking forward to it even though it’ll make poor Box’s day.

Happy Friday, my beloveds. The weekend looms, I’ve got an elvish city to wreck–the attacking army has reached the walls, which is a nice change from previous days–it’s been a rather bumpy ride to get here. Oh, and I have a new subscriber tier to test out, so we’ll see how that goes.

See you next week…