March 23: Goose of Ill Omen
By: Sydney Jane
Tags: Coronavirus, Journaling

I chased a goose this morning. I swear it was not a malicious act.

Near the start of my day, as I was settling at my desk and preparing to check my email, I heard the somewhat distant honk of a goose. This is not uncommon. There are reservoirs and small ponds in my neighborhood, and geese are frequent visitors. However, I soon realized that this goose would be An Issue.

When I next heard the goose’s cry, it was closer, sounding as though it were in my backyard. The honking persisted for several minutes, occurring every few seconds. It was incessant and loud.

My issue with geese is minimal. I respect them and their fearless, chaotic nature. As a child, I would hiss back at them when they opened their beaks. Once, my mother and I were at a local park, and according to her recollection, a gaggle surrounded us. My mother claims to have been “scared to death” as she picked me up and bolted through the crowd.

More recently, I was privy to what I can only assume was a divine sign in the form of a prophetic dream in which a group of geese stood in the road outside my house, alive but unwilling to budge, honking madly at those who dared approach be they human or vehicle.

After the initial honk session this morning, I was treated to roughly half an hour of blessed quiet. Then, when I had begun to embrace my peace, my dog began to bark. It went on so long that I emerged from my office (re: spare bedroom) at which point my mother informed me that there was a goose in the road, right along the edge of our front yard.

It began to shift into the middle of the road, understandably frightened by the volume and sharpness of my dog’s bark. Once there, it resumed its endless ballad. Every other second, it let out an echoing honk.

We watched this goose for many minutes. At one point, it extended its wings and rose up to its full height, presumably to shake off the rainwater gathering on its feathers. I began to pity the bird; chances are, it was alone or lost and its honking, however grating, was an attempt to locate its kin.

So I did the natural thing. I went out into the rain, approached it from behind, and slowly herded it into someone else’s yard. It didn’t hiss or attack, for which I am grateful. (While I have never been bitten by a goose, I have been bitten by a duck, and I imagine the goose bite is worse.)

I haven’t checked to see if the goose is still out there, but I hope it found its friends/family and can continue its goose life.

As for the goose of ill omen, as the title mentions, I say this in light of the common association of birds like crows and raven with illness, death, and calamity. I like those birds. They’re smart, friendly, and like to collect things. Geese, however, are generally aggressive, often needlessly so, and are inclined to chase individuals who anger them. The honking of that goose this morning was akin to the trumpets that are said to sound in the end of days.

“And I looked, and behold, a pale horse! And its rider’s name was Death.”

And perhaps that horse was not a horse but a goose.

A chaotic icon.

In other news, I’ve decided to make video chats this week more enjoyable by pulling out some random accouterments, accessories, and outfits. So far, I wore a cat ear headband and a small masquerade mask today. I couldn’t see, but it sure was fun.