A Stand-Off on the Asphalt
A Canada goose flared its broad wings across the yellow divider, snapping its beak open toward an approaching runner.
A few inches away sat a lone, downy gosling, its webbed feet tucked beneath its pale yellow belly.
Across the curb on the roadside lawn, the rest of the brood huddled in a tight row, waiting near parked cars.
Cars coasted past in the distance, but the parent bird refused to yield an inch of blacktop.
The runner, wearing a gray shirt and black athletic shorts, slowed his jog to an abrupt halt.
He planted both sneakers on the pavement, his shoulders tense as the goose let out a sharp hiss.
The Approach
The runner shifted his weight side to side, gauging the bird’s outstretched wings.
Every time he leaned forward, the goose thrust its dark head outward, feathers puffed along its neck.
The tiny gosling remained crouched against the road surface, its beak opening and closing in tiny gasps.
Cars idled along the adjacent lane, their tires crunching over loose grit along the curb.
The runner bent at the knees, dropping his center of gravity to appear less imposing.
He extended his open palms, palms turned upward, keeping his fingers flat and motionless.
The goose lunged, snapping its bill toward his sneakers, wings batting the humid summer air.
Instead of backing off, the runner paused, holding his stance steady just inches away from the bird’s beak.
A Careful Grasp
He waited until the adult bird pivoted slightly toward the median line.
Dropping into a deep crouch, the runner reached past the flared wings toward the asphalt.
He cupped both hands around the gosling’s small, fuzzy torso.
The little bird let out a faint chirp as fingers supported its fragile chest and legs.
The parent bird whirled instantly, snapping and thrusting its neck directly at his forearms.
The runner rose into a half-crouch, keeping the chick tucked close against his chest to shield it.
He walked backward quickly toward the grass, step by measured step.
The goose trailed right at his ankles, wings spread wide enough to brush the runner’s shins with every stride.
He kept his eyes focused on the curb, navigating the drop without tripping.
Rejoining the Flock
Reaching the grassy verge, he knelt beside the cluster of waiting chicks.
He lowered his palms to the turf and opened his fingers.
The gosling scrambled forward onto its feet, immediately disappearing into the middle of the clutch.
The parent bird immediately lowered its raised wing tips, tucking them neatly back against its flanks.
The runner stood up straight, shook out his hands, and turned back toward his jogging path.
The goose guided the seven small yellow chicks in a straight line across the grass, heading directly behind a black parked SUV toward the water’s edge.
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