It
started off faintly. In the distance. Absolutely, without a doubt,
no mistaking it for anyone that has ever heard the sounds before.
Geese.
But,
in that “for anyone that has ever heard” part, we have the twist.
Because she hadn’t.
In
this case, the she is a just beyond her first birthday golden
retriever. We had wandered into the backyard together, just before
8am. Or, in these parts and in these days, slightly after sunrise
on a very chilly morning.
The
sound was coming from the side of the yard. I looked and saw them,
perhaps 35-40 in the air. Geese in the traditional familiar chevron
formation. Geese honk honk honking. They were headed our way.
She
heard them. Was looking for them. But couldn’t see them. She was
looking straight across the yard, and as a result straight across
a few neighbors’ yards. She had a bit of experience with squirrels.
Occasionally a single bird, or perhaps two, might appear on a
fence post or tree. But this was different.
A
gaggle of geese, in the air, soaring above us and approaching.
And she didn’t know to look up.
She
was looking around, but you could tell she didn’t want to be.
The problem was there were no geese where she was looking. She
heard them. Knew where they should be. But they weren’t there.
So, she paced and danced and looked around slightly, in that agitated
kind of hop step that accompanies a bit of puppy impatience and
confusion.
Eventually
the geese were nearing us, and they were going to pass almost
directly overhead, and that’s when the sound shifted. It was no
longer coming from the left. The geese were high enough and near
enough that now it was coming from the left and above.
So,
she looked up.
And
she froze in place.
Her
only movement for the next twenty to thirty seconds was her head.
Eyes locked onto the geese, moving ever so slowly and slightly
to follow the skein. (Which, of course, she hadn’t known was a
skein. And, sure, probably still doesn’t. Did you? Never mind,
go look up skein and come back. Ok…)
It’s
so hard not to apply our thoughts and interpretations to the actions
of our pets. This is especially true when it seems so outlandishly
obvious, such as when they are staring at the ball in our hands
or at the treats on the counter.
We
know what they’re thinking. We know what they’re saying. No way
it could be anything else.
Somehow,
all of this crashed around me into the idea of things I can’t
figure out. There’s something coming. I can feel it. I can sense
it. It’s there. But, literally and figuratively, I can’t see it.
Why
can’t I—shall we say metaphorically—see the geese?
As
in the case of a golden retriever staring across the lawn at something
she knows has to be there, is it just a slightly askew and a bit
misplaced viewpoint? A lack of experience? Or, is it something
else? Is it more than that?
Is
it all too much to contemplate on a cold, overcast, December morning?