I was exiting Winding Trails, the lake club where my family and I spend our summers. I had a meeting with an important client in less than an hour and needed to get home quickly in order to shower and be prepared.
I had spent a little too much time on the beach with Elysha. She’s quite alluring. I was running late.
As I approached the gate, I came upon a flock of geese in the road. They weren’t walking in the road. They were simply standing in the road.
I edged forward slowly, assuming they would scatter as two tons of glass and steel approached.
They did not. They barely looked in my direction.
So I honked, expecting to startle them into movement at the sound of the horn.
They still didn’t move.
I lowered my window and shouted at them to get out of the road.
Nothing.
I sat there for more than three minutes, sensing the precious seconds ticking away.
Finally, I got out of the car and ran towards the geese, shouting at them to move. Flapping my arms.
Finally, they moved.
They attacked me.
Nearly en masse, the geese turned on me, some hissing, some expanding their wings, and they charged.
I stood my ground for about half a second, then I turn and fled, jumping back into the car and slamming the door shut behind me. The geese surrounded my car, hissing and honking. Angry and outraged. Still blocking my path.
It was ridiculous.
I don’t want you to think that I was afraid of the geese. If necessary, I’m sure I would’ve killed every single one of them. Strangled them by their long, stupid necks. Stomped on their lopsided bodies with my shoes. Shoulder-checked them into the pavement.
But then what?
I’m the guy who slaughtered a flock of geese in the middle of the road because they attacked me?
Can you imagine?
So instead, I remained in my car, feeling like one of the characters in a Jurassic Park movie, hiding from the dinosaurs.
At one point, a Winding Trails employee emerged from a building ahead and to the left. I assumed that she had witnessed this spectacle and had come to help, but no. Surrounded by geese in the middle of the road, she simply walked up the road, ignoring me and the geese completely.
Eventually, the geese in front of my car meandered enough to the side to allow me to slowly move forward and escape.
I had to skip the shower and meet with the client in a wet bathing suit. Thankfully, no one knows what you’re wearing below the waist on Zoom.
In my defense, our sailing instructor told me the next day that he’s also been chased by those geese and considers them a mean bunch of birds.
Still, attacked by geese? Hiding in my car?
Not exactly the most heroic moment of my life.
