They call me Barney or That Goose or The Mystery Goose.
As for me?
Why I just call myself a mutilated Barnacle Goose who got dumped down here by the harbor to fend for myself with half of my left wing chopped off.
Oh yeah, it’s just frickin’ great.
Anyway, they chopped off half of my left wing when they added me to their collection of exotic waterfowl out there on their little 4,000-acre Home in Nature spread. I was popular with them and their hoity-toity friends for a while, but then they got tired of being at Home in Nature and had a Monte Carlo-style racetrack built on their back 40, and they bought all those temperamental Italian race cars to go with it. And now they’re having the times of their rich, little lives.
Good for them.
But bad for me, because no more Barney the Barnacle Goose and the rest of the exotic birds they had acquired from that shady bird broker friend of theirs.
We were all so yesterday.
And so a few yesterdays ago they had their boy drop us here by the harbor under the cover of darkness.
A hunter without a license bagged my buddy Rudy the Ruddy Shell Duck from Asia, and crows and hawks and coyotes and stray dogs and fishing lines and bored kids with fast cars claimed the rest of the old gang.
As for me?
Well, I’m developing a decided taste for day-old bread and stale popcorn and learning to speak Canadian.