I freaking hate geese. Alright, so that sounds a little dark, but really, I do. They beat the ground senseless until nothing can grow, they whine for food outside your steps just inches away and, gods forbid, you get too close. These danger birds will rip you limb from limb if you’re not careful enough. They make a mess on top of everything else. I always watch from above as they pull at their feathers they no longer want. I roll my eyes as the leave behind their last meal from earlier in the day. They tear at anything they find on the ground.  Let’s not forget the ducks either.

The poor things stroll up the hill from the pound just the same as the geese, even the one missing the end of its beak. They settle down under the cool branches of the tree and pick at the bread crumbs left behind by the many people around and do nothing. They are simple and less destructive. Then the geese see them. The geese glare at them. It is almost as if they are calling out “hey, what are you doing here tiny birds. Get out of here. Geese only.” There’s squawking and ruffling of feathers and the harsh sound of wings beating too hard. The poor, tiny birds and shoved out like some kind of trash and the geese resume their destruction.

I absolutely hate geese. They are not pleasant. They are not friendly. They are the enemy of people and birds alike, and share no interest in being kind creatures. No one will ever tell me that a goose can be good.