The other day I went walking in Legacy Park intending to visit with my new friend, Georgie the goose. You may recall that Georgie had originally arrived in the Park with another goose, who soon met a sad fate—probably at the paws of a local coyote—and Georgie was particularly vigilant about the nighttime denizens of Legacy Park. I was bringing a Starbucks butter croissant with me since Georgie was particularly partial to them, and preferred them slightly warmed.
When I got to our usual spot there was no honking and no Georgie, and I initially assumed that same coyote was back. But I found no evidence of an attack—there were no feathers and no bones—so it looked like Georgie had just flown away. Although, truthfully, I had never actually seen Georgie fly before; the best Georgie ever managed was a scurry and that was when there was food around.
Georgie’s disappearance remained a total mystery until a video popped up on YouTube a few days later showing Georgie with a bunch of other fowl at some internment location in the San Fernando Valley.
So I got into my car and headed to the SFV, which I seldom do, finally arriving at the reservoir where Georgie was being kept.
Me: Georgie, where have you been? Why would you want to leave Malibu and move to the San Fernando Valley?
Georgie: Who said I wanted to leave Malibu? I was gooseknapped. There I was in Legacy Park, minding my own business, and the next thing I know somebody threw a bag over me and I’m in a van headed north on the 405.
Me: How do you know it was the 405?
Georgie: Well, traffic was practically standing
still and I could hear the drivers around me cursing.
Me: Sounds like the 405. Well, still, you look pretty good and be grateful, now you have the company of the other geese.
Georgie: Not really. I’m a Malibu goose. These are Valley geese and they never stop talking. It’s talk, talk, talk, quack, quack, quack, honk, honk, honk. It’s driving me crazy. Then they spend endless hours looking at their reflection in the reservoir, worrying if they’re getting fat.
Me: Well, you look well-fed so at least the food must be good, in fact it looks like you may have trimmed down a bit.
Georgie: Yeah sure! They feed us this special organic, macrobiotic, gluten-free diet.
Me: So what’s wrong with that?
Georgie: I’ll tell you what’s wrong with that. It tastes like crap! It’s like eating gravel. I can’t believe that people actually pay for this stuff. They keep telling me that it’s good for me. Did you ever notice that everything that is good for you tastes terrible? Besides, we may even run out of food soon.
Me: Why would you be running out of food?
Georgie: Where have you been? The Republicans have shut down the federal government.
Me: So?
Georgie: So, we fly from state to state, that’s interstate. That means we’re Federal. For now the state’s taking care of us, but that’s going to get old once those federal dollars stop flowing.
Me: Georgie, I could probably get you sprung and sent back to Malibu. What do you say?
Georgia: I can’t right now, I’m in a relationship.
Me: Congratulations. By the way Georgie, are you a boy goose or a girl goose?
Georgie: I’m a girl goose, of course.
Me: Oh, so you found a gander.
Georgie: No, I’ve had it with ganders. It’s hello babe, and a couple of quick pecks on your bill, and then they’re jumping on your feathers.
Me: So you’re a gay goose.
Georgie: No, I’m sort of a declined to state. She talks a bit but it’s worked out fine.
Me: Doesn’t her talking get to you?
Georgie: Not really, she’s a Canuck goose and only speaks French and I don’t speak any French at all, so I just kind of nod and try and look agreeable.
Me: You must have a lot of friends
Georgie: Not really. We kind of keep it quiet. You know she’s Canadian and, between us, she’s undocumented.
Me: Got to go, Georgie. Got a paper to get out.
Georgie: Come back and see me again and bring me a Starbucks butter croissant. I’m dying for some decent food.