Duck, Duck.......GOOSE!

If it looks like a duck and walks like a duck…watch out, it might be a crazy, deranged goose.

Sometimes a special outing with your children turns into an event they will later recount in therapy. An unexpected occurrence you would have never believed if you had not witnessed it first hand.

As moms we have pure intentioned motives, hoping to create heart-warming memories with our children that will sustain them through turbulent teenage years. Our desire is that the loving recollections of baking cookies together, or playing crazy eights on the porch, will overshadow any foot stomping or door slamming that will occur in later years because you are declared the uncoolest mom EVER. Cramming the memories in now, when the age is impressionable and your children don’t yet hate your guts, is paramount in fighting the war on family dysfunction.

At least that’s what I’ve been told.

Today I decided that I would take Chandler and Mary Mac to visit a local pond to feed the local ducks. Everyone was excited, and I looked forward to spending quality time with my two youngest while enjoying the delights of nature.

We arrived at the pond, unloaded and began walking to our destination. A joyful day indeed.

Nearing the pond, we noticed a large congregation of geese gathering at the edge of the water. We would find out later that these were very mean and evil geese, full of the devil himself, who apparently had devoured all of the sweet, fluffy ducks that we aspired to feed. The geese spotted us about the same time we spotted them, and my mommy radar began to suspect that something wasn’t quite right.

(I'm pretty certain it had something to do with the red eyes glowing out of their beady heads . Or maybe it was the horns.)

Anyway, the swarm of geese began scurrying towards us, flapping their wings violently and honking at us in a manner that could only be received as unfriendly.

One particular gnarly-headed goose reached us ahead of the others, opened his beak wide, stuck out his slimy tongue and HISSED at each of us. My six year old later said that the sound reminded him of the voice used by Darth Vader when he growled, “Luke, I am your FATHAH (father).”

So I did what any responsible mom would do when presented with a situation that required calm over chaos, composure over disgrace. I screamed at the geese, using a voice that has been buried since labor, snatched up my children and ran to the car as fast as I could drag them.