Moses The Snow Goose

 It's 48 degrees here on the prairie with partly cloudy skies.  A very quiet start to a very beautiful day. 

On Thursday, I looked out in the back yard and there was a gaggle of fifty snow geese, mixing it up and gettin' jiggy with our regular herd of Canada geese. The next morning, all that remained was our usual bunch of Canadas with one exception.  Hanging out with them was a lone snow goose.  And he was here again yesterday and he just appeared again this morning.  I like snow geese.

I always find myself wondering about that one solitary goose that I see every now and then.  There it will be, all by itself in the pond.  Or sometimes, you'll see one in a group and it's trying so freaking hard to be cool and to fit in, but the others won't let him play their reindeer games.  And they'll chase him and peck at him relentlessly, necks stretched out all horizonal.  Just like kids at the playground, there's always that one goose that everyone picks on.  This poor little goosey has a bull's eye taped onto its behind which invites others to terrorize him.  And I wonder why this occurs?  Geese in general are born with siblings, which usually signals automatic acceptance.  They look the same, act the same, poop the same and honk the same.  What made this goose resort to hanging out with a gang unlike his own?

I had a student once who was always getting suspended for something or another.  He really was a troubled soul, and he tried so hard to adopt the colloquialisms of the inner-city black kid.  Please remember that our high school was planted in the middle of a country bumpkin corn field.  The boy told me that he shopped for clothes in the 'hood shops'.  He wore tons of chains, the waistband of his pants hung down at his knees and he wore his cap sideways long before any of this was considered 'in'.  He spoke in inner-city dialect (I aks you sum'n?" aka "May I please ask you a question, Teacher?") and he listened to gansta rap.  Maybe that's how it is for my little snow goose.  Maybe he longs for life on the other side of the tracks.

Maybe this goose was sent down the creek early on in his life, stuffed into a woven wicker basket by his mommy.  She wanted a life for him, a better life that she thought the Canada geese could provide.  Let him be named Moses.  Moses is in da hood.