Returning geese interrupt impending Indian attack
It was a late March day in 1970. I was sitting on my bed trying to balance some plastic cowboys on a stiff wool blanket.
I made a crease in the blanket to form a valley where my plastic Indians would descend in an assault.
I was irritated. Every time I made a move to set one of the toys upright, two would fall down. I finally got the soldiers into a good upright circle as a host of rich sunlight flooded into the room.
Just then, my dog “Dog” came in the room and rubbed her body against the side of the bed. The sudden earthquake sent the bed quivering and the soldiers plopped on their sides.
Frustrated, I just crossed my legs and reached over and gave her ears a scratch. She placed her chin into my hand so I itched her there too.
Her ears suddenly perked and she snuck her head forward over the edge of the bed so she could get a look out the window. Her eyes blinked in the spray of full sunlight.
I took a look outside too but saw no sign of anything that could have spooked her.
I turned to her and asked her what was wrong. Before she had a chance to respond, I heard something overhead. It was a faint sound of honking geese echoing over Limekiln Lake.
I pulled myself across the bed and strained my neck to look up into the sky.
“I don’t see them, but from the sounds of it there must be hundreds, maybe thousands of them,” I said looking back at Dog.
She whimpered a bit as if she was answering me. Then she rubbed herself against the bed again.
I had previously heard geese as they flew South in the fall but never before had I heard them on their return flight North.
I wondered where they were going, and which one was in charge of this group. Just a day earlier I was down by the Lake and noticed it was still frozen solid. There were no spots for a goose to land.
I thought to myself that the flock would never again follow that goose in the lead because they were going to have to just turn around and come back in a month or so when the lakes were thawed.
As I turned from the window I noticed that half a toy Indian was hanging out of Dog’s mouth. “Hey, don’t eat that!” I shouted.
I jumped up and wrestled it from her. I was glad to see it was not one of my favorites and that it had only sustained a little bit of damage.
Mitch Lee, Adirondack native & storyteller, lives at Big Moose Lake.ltmitch3rdny@aol.com
