Threat Level: Goose

So my friend Rick lives on a ranch. Lots of horses, chickens, mules, yadda yadda yadda. It’s quite hilly there as well, and the mud that day was fall-on-the-ass-tastic.

Another friend and I were outside, doing the thing that all teenage town kids do–chase chickens. Red, yellow, black, white–it didn’t matter as long as they squawked loudly and flapped/hobbled away when we chased them. The front yard was a flurry of running chickens and terrorist teenagers.

The two of us ran around to the back following our avian prey, unknowing of the horror that was…

…Gordon.

hooooooonk

The two of us slowly looked at the source of the new noise. This wasn’t a chicken. This was something…different. Unknown.

A large white goose stood before my friend and I, walking slowly towards us. One step per second, it tottered forwards, its wings outstretched to their fullest length, quite possibly over 9000 span.

We took a step backwards.

The goose took another step forwards, and honked once again. The low, harsh sound made my hair stand on end.

We took a step backwards.

The goose took a step forwards.

My friend and I looked at each other nervously, quietly discussing what would happen if (and when) the goose were to charge us. We’d break in opposite directions, finding refuge in the barn if things got too bad.

I’ll be honest. I was frightened. So when we passed the minute mark of the thrilling low-speed avian chase, I was not-so-pleasantly surprised by a body splashing in the mud in front of me.

“I KILLED 50 GOOKS IN VIETNAM AND I’LL KILL ME ANOTHER 50 MORE!”

Rick was decked out in full commando gear, chewing heavily on a fake cigar as he whipped out what looked like an assault rifle and pulled the trigger.

The goose screamed as a loud ratatatat of a dying air canister split the air.

“Fuck,” Rick muttered, and whacked his Airsoft against his leg. It was then that the goose charged.

It was all wings, really, and it was biting and beating Rick everywhere it could. My other friend and I stood there, dumbstruck for a second as we watched a 16-year-old struggle to bring down a goose. The absurdity of the army clothing, paired with the tie-dyed bandanna around his head, was simply too much for us to take in at once.

Then, laughing, we walked away, leaving Rick to contend with Gordon the goose.