I attempt to be a very easy going person. Rarely do I try to force my views on people, and there are only a handful of things I really, really loathe.
Geese are at the very top of the list. Above spiders, heavy winds, Oreo's (thats a great story), and wearing shoes inside. I think my hatred spawns from emotional trauma at a young age. At least, thats what the shrink told me. (Kidding, only kidding. I don't go to a shrink, although anger management might be what I need in the case of those evil white avians.)
When we (my brother and I, along with the kids next door. During the early years we were raised less as humans and more like a small herd of sheep, always lumped together. Any way) were young, my mom used to take us to the park. At this park there was a man made lake, which was stocked with truly pathetic fish my brother used to catch. And where there are parks, water and small, easily frightened young children, there are geese.
I was probably around 3 or 4. I can't remember the exact age, only the mind numbing fear.
It had been decided that feeding the geese bread was the perfect activity with which the young should be entertained. So, our mothers corralled us into the Subaru and off we went, young eyes alight with the prospect of getting up close and personal with nature. If I knew just how close we were going to get, I would have pitched a fit and allowed my self to be sent away.
We arrived and began trundling along on our minuscule legs, thrilled to be at the park getting ready to feed birds. Subsequent to the moms rescue of the boys from a certain meltdown after nearly falling in the lake, we got out the bread and looked around for the (cough*cretinous*cough) geese. While we waited, we chucked little pieces of bread to the kindly pigeons.
And then, they came. Geese, it turns out, are very jealous of pigeons.
Being young and unexperienced in the evils of geese, I held out a piece of bread to the goose nearest me. It, being the epitome of all the is cruel and sadistic in this world, charged me. Maybe it thought I was a rival goose, mocking it (I was about as big as the beast). I don't know, and at that point I really didn't care, because I had a huge white bird with nasty beak that was my height (and probably weight) coming after me, wings aloft and squawking its death squawks. It might (read: mostly likely did not) have landed one peck before Mom came a scared it away, but if you asked me then (and now) I would say the thing mutilated me beyond recognition before it could be dragged away by 3 men who bore a strong resemblance to bouncers.
It might not have been as bad as I make it seem. I could possibly be a little biased. But I still abhor geese with all my heart and soul. Every time I drive by one I mutter profanities under my breath. Ok, I don't mutter profanities (I try very hard not to mutter profanities ever), but if I was that kind of person, I would. Bad ones.
My friend laughs at my absolute fear and hatred. She thinks it was just one little incident a long time ago, and I should just get over it. She doesn't have the image of a ticked off goose charging towards her 4 year old self burned in her mind.
Now that I have shoved my hatred unto you, I am going to play with my new awesometastical Canon Power Shot S5IS (camera). Yay!
I hate geese.