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“Aw, I think it likes us.”
“Uh, I’m not sure?—”
It honked again, louder, and stretched out its neck. Spencer crouched for a better look, and that’s when it charged. It came at us honking, flapping its wings. Spencer jumped in front of me.
“No, buddy, hey?—”
I grabbed hold of him. “Run!”
“What? It can’t hurt us. It’s only a?—”
“Run!” I yanked on his arm and we fled the crazed goose. Its feet slapped the tarmac. Its wings beat the air. Its frantic honks reached a hysterical pitch. Spencer glanced back at it.
“Shit, damn thing’s gaining!”
I dragged him on harder. “Shut up and run!”
We piled into the visitors’ center and jerked the door shut behind us. The goose’s soft body went bump on the glass. It stood glaring in at us, bobbing its head.
“Screw you,” said Spencer. “You hear me? Screw you. You wanna go to the zoo? Is that what you’re after? Well, I might’ve held the door for you, but you were a dick. You came at me honking, so no zoo for you.” He stuck out his tongue at it. The goose fluffed its feathers.
“You know it can fly, right? It can meet us inside.”
“Yeah, but it won’t. It’s just a dumb goose.”
We paid for our tickets and headed into the park. Most of the animals were still inside, still sleeping, but the walk was nice anyway, just being together. We checked out the penguins all huddled together, and the sun conures shrieking in their warm enclosure. Then we looped up around the duck pond.
“Cute ducks,” said Spencer. “Should’ve brought ’em some bread.”
“I don’t think that’s good for them.”
“How can it not be? I always see ducks eating?—”
HONK!
Spencer whirled. “Are you kidding me?”
The goose angled in for a wet, splashy landing, its big wings beating the pond. Spencer jumped back, yelling.
“That fluffy jerk splashed me!”
I backed away, groaning. “I knew it’d be back.”
Spencer waved his arms at it. “Shoo. Go on, scram.”
The goose didn’t scram. It cocked its head for a moment, then paddled our way.
“Oh, lord, here he comes.” Spencer grabbed my arm. The goose swam ashore and came waddling toward us, already honking low in its throat. We backed away slowly, but it just kept on coming, and first I then Spencer turned and ran. We raced back past the penguin chill, ruffling the penguins, and past a pink, grunting flock of flamingoes. I glanced over my shoulder.
“Man, he’s still coming!”
“This way. The reptile house.” Spencer gripped my hand tight. We flew past the flamingoes, past a stand of loose shrubs, and into the safety of the reptile house. The door bumped shut behind us. The goose hissed through the glass.
“He really hates us.” I leaned, panting, on Spencer. “Did you do something to offend him? Chase his kids? Eat his eggs?”
“Me?” He bent to one side and massaged his sore leg. “Why can’t it be you he hates? Didn’t you hit a goose once, with your car?”
“Yeah, like ten years ago.”
