Get Chased by a Goose

I have what can be lovingly referred to as “bad luck” when it comes to wildlife experiences. I tend to think of it more as a some kind of voodoo curse, but bad luck also fits. I’ve been shat on by birds, pissed on by dogs, and chased by moose on no less than four separate occasions.

That last one is not something I ever recommend even for the lulz.

moose-chase
Just looking at this gives me horror flashbacks.

One thing that has never happened to me, though, is having a true run-in with a goose. For those of you tuning in from home (which is probably everyone) I’m not talking about any old shitty fucking goose here. I’m talking the spawn of Satan himself, the Canada Goose.

Canadian Geese are the real reasons Canadians are so nice. We store all of our violence, anger, and resentment into these little assholes and set them loose on the rest of the world so we don’t have to deal with our issues.

My original plan for the evening was to go to the gym after a very long day, but I realized upon getting there that I had left my fucking running shoes at home. Not wanting to make the trip again, I decided to just go home and do some good old fashioned outdoor training. Because I’m a fucking idiot, I figured nothing could possibly go wrong in the middle of suburbia.

Such hubris.

Now, last time I posted about doing some Spartan training I mentioned that I nearly ran into a Canada Goose, but I managed to notice that fucker lurking in the middle of the path so I noped the hell out faster than a toupee in a hurricane.

Tonight I was not so fortunate.

1024px-canada_goose_-_natures_pics
Duh duh.

As I was running through the pond area by our house, I got distracted by the timer going off on my phone. As I was looking down in the dark, I failed to notice my epic miscalculation: not only had I stepped entirely too close to a Canada Goose, but I had stepped entirely too close to a baby Canada Goose, and mom was ready to fucking scalp me.

Guys, gals, and non-binary pals, I saw the face of death, and it is a goose.

Once I heard the murder-honk to my right and realized my lethal mistake, I took a mere millisecond to mourn my imminent demise before I did the only thing I could think in sheer panic: I honked right back. I think this is the only thing that saved me, because the Canada Goose also paused for a split second before charging my sorry ass, and in that time I stripped Usain Bolt of every gold medal he’s ever earned in the 100 metre dash. Puma called me up and offered me a sponsorship that I had to turn down because I was still desperately running for my life.

I looked back for a split second and it was only a few feet behind me. I knew in my heart that the end was nigh and was desperately preparing my will when, all at once, Mama Goose decided to allow me to live the rest of my life in fear and she retreated back to her gosling.

Upon coming home, I promptly thanked every deity alive for my life. I’m now going to watch the entire catalogue of Ryan Gosling’s work in penance. I only hope this is enough to appease her.

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