Only Monday morning and I was already late. Speeding down the freeway, constantly checking my rear-view mirror for any sign of the authorities, I noticed the ominous storm trailing close behind. It followed my entire commute, depositing a few scattered drops on the windshield. But the sky waited to fall out until I began my quarter mile trek into the building, juggling the unruly laptop bag, coffee mug and umbrella.
Directly next to the closest path, the shortest distance between my car and the entrance, sat a goose nesting on a pile of mulch. Papa goose stood guard close by. As I stared in disbelief at this unusual scene, they began to hiss in my direction. Not the hiss of a boiling kettle releasing steam, or even the soft hiss of a slithering serpent. This was a full-throat attack hiss. Apparently Canadian geese (in addition to most American males) feel threatened by prolonged eye contact. Traumatized, I scurried along to safety, where I promptly informed my boss that my workplace is no longer a safe environment.
The passing of the goose is now part of my daily routine. I lower my head and avert my gaze, keeping to the far side of the path. Security has oh-so-helpfully blocked off a four foot radius around the nest with orange cones. Whether it’s to protect mother goose or to protect me, I’m not sure.
