Pass the Goose, Bruce

In our favorite walking park south of Denver, the village authorities have commenced hunting coyotes, purportedly nuisance coyotes who have threatened people and taken pets. At the same time, most of the large geese that frequent the park's two ponds are now absent, at least temporarily, and their droppings have been swept from the park's sidewalks and trails. Clearly, somebody has made a decision that the park is for people first.

When the geese were much more plentiful -- i.e., until a few days ago -- I often wondered whether they might look tasty upon someone's dinner table. Impoverished people in the city might benefit from a free poultry meal, and others might find an occasional game bird appetizing. But Canada geese are protected under the Federal Migratory Bird Act of 1918. Poaching them remains a crime.

We think of other cultures as exotic for the animals that are and are not consumed. In India, cattle are untouched; in Middle Eastern cultures, it's swine. As a non-hunter, I still wonder how strange it must look to hungry people of the planet that we have geese aplenty in our midst and choose to leave them to the coyotes.

Coyote Waits

We've enjoyed our living situation since moving to Colorado, even while still in transition. We're lodging in a second-floor, west-facing studio room that opens to the outdoors, with magnificent views of the Front Range on the horizon. The snowcapped peaks behind the darker hues of the lower ridges provide a spectacular contrast. Wildlife is evident in the open field next door, which used to be a Par 3 golf course; from the yips of coyotes at night and the multitudinous rabbits upon which they munch, to a large Cooper's hawk that swoops and dives around, to huge squirrels, as big as small cats.

Walking around a nearby park two days ago, replete with geese (watch your step!), we saw our first coyote in person, a large one, being chased out of an adjacent yard by a territorial dog guarding its McMansion-sized house. It rested under a tree, barely taking notice of us as we walked away swiftly, looking over our shoulders.

All this within a mile of the Denver Tech Center, and walking distance to the RTD light rail. We may be in compact quarters in our temporary residence, but there are most definitely compensating factors.

A Walk in the Park

It's a privilege for a weekend duffer like myself to play the Brown Deer Golf Course, a tree-lined county course that serves as home to the PGA Greater Milwaukee Open (or whatever it's called this year).

Once a season, I would stray from the municipal goat tracks that are more suitable to my well-hidden skills and treat myself to eighteen at Brown Deer. A final exam, as it were, that would almost assuredly result in my having to repeat the grade.

Not that that's a problem. My philosophy of playing golf is more Parks and Recreation than Competition. I love walking on a lawn that somebody else has mowed. Grouped by the starter in a foursome with three Brown Deer regulars, however, I became aware that my amateur-hour, isn't-this-a-nice-day approach wasn't shared by my low handicap partners.

One competitive business type, not even trying to relax on his day off, strode up to the tee box on a particularly picturesque hole. The scene: a beautiful, sunny day; lovely, lush shade trees; green grass; decorative flowerbeds; a challenging water hazard. Canada geese waddling across the fairway. A perfect natural setting in a gorgeous public park. Lucky-to-be-alive gorgeous.

Oblivious to it all, Pinhead executed a low, straight drive, scattering the geese. Pinhead's next words: "I don't know why they have those geese here. They don't add anything to the course."

Sometimes, there's nothing you can say. Factually, I'm pretty sure he was incorrect. In any case, I really hope he stepped in some ecology during his red-assed trek around the park.

Driver's Education

"Go ahead," said Zubes, the Driver's Ed teacher, as three dozen cheeky pigeons bobbed their heads, scuffling around on the pavement in front of the bumper of our student car.

Having executed a perfect stop at the stop sign, a rare triumph, I was hesitant to proceed through the ad hoc aviary. The prior week, Zubes had asked the kids in the back seat following my turn at the wheel, "Now, which of you thought Bob was in proper control of the vehicle the whole time?"

I was determined not to screw up again. Pigeon stew would not be on the menu today.

"It's okay, Bob. You'll never hit them. They'll move," he insisted.

I proceeded.

THUMP.

Zubes looked over at me with a combination of astonishment and, I maintain, grudging admiration. "I've never seen that before!" he said.

A tip of the cap to Mr. Zubal, and all the Driver's Education teachers out there. Would you want that job?