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Horror filled me as the closest goose took a step towards Dillon’s small hand. Pushing myself, I finally caught up and lifted him up in a spinning arc, away from the goose.
The goose, offended that I moved the boy, shot his neck forward and bit my ass.
“Motherfucker!”
“Swear jar, Daddy.”
“The goose bit me!”
“You say no ‘cuses, Daddy.”
I watched the gaggle of geese move further in our yard to the small pool, which had water in it.
Carrying my son into the house, I set him down, sighing. “Dillon, you can’t just walk up to geese.”
“But dad! They was talking to me.”
“I think they’re just noisy.” A frown filled my face.
Dillon went to the window, looked back at me with sad eyes, and turned back to look out the window, pouting. His small hands and nose pressed against the clear glass. “I just want to pet them.”
My shoulders dropped, and I watched my son while rubbing the sore spot on my butt, trying not to be mad that my four-year-oldwas beinga four-year-old.
When I was his age, I would’ve done the same. Kids are naturally curious. And I refuse to treat him like my mother treated me.
“Can I please go pet them?” Dillon came over to me and hugged my leg.
“No.” I reach down and stroke his head. “I’m sorry.”
“But why not?” Sad blue eyes look up into mine.
“Dillon, geese are mean.” I pointed to my sore butt. “They can hurt you.”
“Maybe you scared him?” His little shoulders shrugged.
“They chase me when I go golfing.”
My son went back to the window and pressed against the glass.
“Dillon, if you don’t ease up, you’ll go through the glass. C’mon, we need to get some breakfast and get ready for our day.”
Shoulders drooping, Dillon came to the table. “I bet they’re hungry.”
“Nature will provide.”
I made quick work of breakfast for Dillon and coffee for myself.
The kid grumbled with each bite, then slunk off to get ready for daycare.
Shaking my head, I looked back at the geesestillwandering around my backyard.
Where on earth did they come from?
Something caught my attention, so I went closer to the window. A curly-haired child entered the yard with a red-headed woman in a bright orange sweater. She clapped her hands at the birds. And they honked at her. She yelled something at them and, without missing a beat, she herded them to the fence.
That’s how they got in.
I watched as she made wild gestures with her arms and I’ll be damned if the geese seemed to understand exiting through the break, out of my backyard.
