Wet, angry goose

You know what’s almost never an improvement to your day? A wet, angry goose. This morning, I stepped out onto my balcony, and found myself face to face with — all together, now — a wet, angry goose. Yeah. I couldn’t see it, when I opened the door: it was off to the side, hiding behind the wall, most likely pecking through a pile of crow-excavated dirt. (Oh, right, I forgot to mention that: lately, when the crows arrive for their morning snack, and breakfast hasn’t yet been put out, they dig through my planter in search of seeds. Not only do they dig, but they toss excess dirt over the side; hence the mess.)

So, anyway, I didn’t see the goose, but the goose saw me, and the next thing I knew —

— HONK! —

oh, horrible! Oh, horrible! Most horrible!

— hissssssss! —

— and there was a goose missile headed straight for my face, flapping its wings, showing me its lamellae — which, in case you weren’t aware, are goose teeth. GOOSE TEETH. Dear, sweet jebus, GOOSE TEETH! Terrifying! Well, I ducked back inside, and the goose didn’t get me, but still…dreadful moment!

After our brief but antagonistic encounter, the goose flew up to the railing, and kept an eye on me as I went about, y’know, breakfast-related activities in the kitchen. It stayed all through breakfast, and nearly an hour after that, alternating between pacing my balcony and eyeing me up from the railing. Once I was reasonably certain it wouldn’t try to squeeze through the window and pummel me with its wings, I poked my lens out juuuuuuuust enough to get some pictures:

Up periscope!

Up periscope!

Ever notice that furry little feather-tuft on the back of a goose's neck?  I didn't, till today.  It looks like something a wild boar would have.

Ever notice that furry little feather-tuft on the back of a goose’s neck? I didn’t, till today. It looks like something a wild boar would have.

A malevolent goosey stare....

A malevolent goosey stare….

Terrifying!

Terrifying!

Look closely at this one, and you can see its horrid, deplorable GOOSE TEETH, sticking out a bit on the side.  I was hoping it would open its beak, let me get a shot of them, but it never did.

Look closely at this one, and you can see its horrid, deplorable GOOSE TEETH, sticking out a bit on the side. I was hoping it would open its beak, let me get a shot of them, but it never did.

The sun began to rise; the goose still had half an eye on me.

The sun began to rise; the goose still had half an eye on me.

Honestly, I don’t know why people aren’t more afraid of geese. Their wings stretch out really far: when this one charged me, it couldn’t even get its wings open all the way, because of the balcony railing. They have tooth-like structures in their beaks, and they hiss. And they’re completely prehistoric-looking, with their long, snakey necks, and their legs — have you seen their legs? Their skin’s all loose, in the leg area, like ill-fitting scaly bags, barely holding in the bones and what-have-you. Their feet are big and clunky, with extra claws on the back: what are those for? Are they for KICKING YOU IN THE FACE? Awful, awful birds, and we’ve got so many of them, at the moment, honking and flapping and invading people’s morning routines.

Oh, and I didn’t see a bufflehead, today. There are some workmen parked up in the middle of False Creek, building a houseboat, or something, and the birds are giving them a wide berth. Insult to injury! Psh.

OH! And a bald eagle flew RIGHT BY MY WINDOW, this morning (pre-bufflehead disappointment, post-goose), with a pack of crows in hot pursuit, and I was ON THE PHONE WITH THE CABLE COMPANY, complaining about poor reception, and missed my chance at a picture! DOUBLE insult to injury! DOUBLE psh!

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