Canada Geese Migration Luck

[genre: non-fiction, humour] His Highness and I were on a nature walk with Dingo and Wiley, looking forward to watching Canada Geese migration. The dog and puppy running, herding, and using logs and debris as an agility course seemingly custom designed for their Blue Heeler joy and enlightenment. Overhead, the harsh cries of Canada geese signal their annual migration to warmer southern climes. There were over 100 honking along in several untidy V formations. No sign yet of the single straggler that each year inevitably flies frantically along honking desperately in the errant hope it is actually heading in the right direction.

We stand admiring the avian beauty of nature’s cycle. When His Highness suddenly exclaims, “They got me!”

I turn to see a large blotch of shat that has landed on the arm of his coat. A small going away present that in some marvel of physics has unerringly departed the bird’s behind only to vector into a direct hit.

“That’s a sign of good luck,” I sweetly inform His Highness.

“I think some got on my hat too!” he complains grumpily.

“Definitely good luck,” I repeat.

In the Pacific Northwest, that’s what is always said to the one shat upon by the one hoping to never be so lucky.

Photo by Jeffrey Hamilton on Unsplash

Jan L. Mayes MSc writes horror fiction and non-fiction, and is an Eric Hoffer Award winning author, blogger, and audiologist. She’s a member of A Writer’s Path Writing Club and The Ladies of Horror Fiction. Her writing has been featured at Tinnitus Today, Communique, and The Right to Quiet Society.


2 thoughts on “Canada Geese Migration Luck”

  1. Gave me a LOL moment. When I was going to college, I walked to my morning class under a tree lined street. I hadn’t gone a block when a bird discharged his rear end right onto my ear and shoulder. I turned around, washed the fecal-coated ear, and changed shirts. On my way back to school, almost at the same spot, another bird, or maybe the same one, dropped a bomb on the top of my head. Needless to say, I did not go to class that. It just wasn’t safe out. Your piece reminded me of the incident, which I might have intentionally forgotten.

Comments are closed.