Snow Geese

 

This morning a man dressed in a white plastic onesie and wearing a white hat too, padded to my front door and knocked. It was before 7am. In the critical 10 minutes when I'm making my coffee, Jacob's cocoa, yelling for Jacob to hurry up and wondering if I should run to the bathroom now or wait until after I take him to school. I have it all down to a mad science. One that gets rehearsed daily. 

I answered the door in an obviously grouchy way. Oh and just for a visual, I was wearing mismatched pajamas and multicolored striped sneakers. The laces are too long so I tied them in big loops with several knots. 

“Yes?” My facial expression conveyed with annoyance. He wanted permission to hunt the snow geese on the property that we rent. I told him I was just a renter and couldn't help him. I could have helped him I guess by putting him in touch with my landlord but I don't like hunting and found the whole exchange off-putting. It was way too early to be interfacing. He asked if I'd mind then if he just scared them off so he could hunt them once he'd gotten them to move to someone else's property. That seemed even worse to me. I said I didn't have the authority to say. Do people hunt geese to eat them? Or do they think it’s fun? For sport? Also he was calling them Snow Geese but he dropped his "s"'s when he talked so it sounded like "oh-Gee" (pronounced with a hard g). He had one more idea and asked about where the landlord was. I do know of course but didn't want to be involved. I said well he probably won't be that helpful. When I needed my toilet fixed he told me to do it myself. Ok m'am he finally shuffled off. By that time I noticed his white onesie had a label on the chest. It said Tyson. 

My son needed help with his shoes, and it was time to go.