...what was I thinking?" What Was I Thinking? by Dierks Bentley
I work with Olive on maintenance at school, right?
Imagine being a little goose, living in Northern Virginia, trying to raise a family. You've finally got a good pond to live next to, a lovely goosewife, and now, five precious goslings to raise. That's a lot of mouths to feed, but it's worth it.
The days have begun to go by in a pleasant blur of sunrise, sunset, water, picking bugs out of the grass, and every now and then avoiding the errant human who comes to take pictures of your adorable offspring.
Perhaps unwisely, the pond chosen is on college property, though there's several nicely landscaped bushes and trees for cover and no one ever goes in the water (except one day a year, and that's easy enough to compensate for, just run down the little stream behind the lake). At least it's a Christian college with a solid dress code, and low crime tolerance. That's a good place to raise the kids.
Then one day, as life seems to be completely under control, you're out for lunch with your little family, and a huge, white, roaring threat-on-wheels comes jumping off a hill about to land on you and kill you all--momma, daddy, babies, everyone.
What would you do?
Attack the monster, of course. Hissing and flapping your wings, with red fire shooting out your eyes, and smoke coming out your goosey little ears.
Now imagine yourself being the two girls in the golf cart, driving back to the maintenance sheds after a long morning fixing locks and oiling hinges. Driving fast around the lake is the way we get thrills after our last job, and there is one hill especially that, right as soon as you crest it, if you brake hard right then, you won't get airborn, but you also won't lose much speed. If you don't brake, then you fly, which is also fun. It depends on how thrilled we want to be.
This particular day, as we crested that hill (and there was no way we were braking today) we had a split second to react as we noticed the family of geese crossing the path. The mama was rushing the little ones into the water, and papa had turned to face us, as described above, ready to kill.
We reacted as right-minded individual would have reacted. We came to a screeching stop.
No seriously, we came to a SCREAMING stop.
We both screamed bloody murder. We came to a stop, not three feet from the hissing, spitting, fearsome goose, who continued to glare, hiss, and flap. We were almost out of fibrillation and about to resume normal breathing again, when he started towards us, flapping menacingly.
We screamed again and I screeched, "FLOOR IT!" and we jolted off, swerving to miss the goose who nipped at our tires as we went. As soon as we got to the road and sped on away to the sheds, we started laughing at our fear of that little goose.
But seriously, it nearly got us.
Don't mess with the geese.
He was so brave, wasn't he? Defending his little family? Awww!
Isn't it ironic?