On the day after we arrived in Oregon, we were still living out of a hotel and I took Mackenzie to a nearby park while the littler ones napped.
We drove around and, spotting a huge lake with a path around the outside, we parked the car and got out.
We took about five steps towards the lake before we both froze.
A flock of birds had been pecking the ground by the shore of the lake and one goose perked up his head and sounded off, alerting his compatriots to our presence.
As a unit, all the birds’ heads turned and they rose as one and started to come towards us.
They had a look in their eyes that made me nervous.
I instinctively pulled Mackenzie behind me and started backing towards the car.
The lead goose started running.
“Back in the car!” I hissed urgently. I loaded Mackenzie in first, then dove in the front seat and slammed the door as the flock divided to surround the car.
That goose meant business.
He stayed at his post for a good long while.
His next unsuspecting victim actually arrived with a toddler in tow and a bag of bread. When the flock honed in on them, she snatched up her child and hurled full slices of bread to the other end of the parking lot to decoy the birds so she could retreat to her car.
I rolled down my window and confessed to seeking refuge in my car as well. We shared a sheepish chuckle together.
It was a beautiful lake, but in the 8 months we’ve lived in town, we haven’t been back once. I have to declare a pretty clear victory in favor of the goose.