(Yes, I know. You're thinking, "Hmm, it took you two months before you started to feel guilty?" And it's true, because I was so busy taking care of other things that I didn't even have time to add "feel guilty" to my to-do list. Maybe I should keep that up.)
So I decided that I'd embraced the unusually hot mornings and head to the lake so we could feed the ducks and geese. She'd only been out there once before, and we had to cut the trip short because she had a major tantrum when Jim refused to let her swim in the lake with the ducks and geese. I felt like she deserved a second chance.
First things first, we headed to our neighborhood Winn Dixie to pick up bread. I have no idea if this is actually good for the animals, but I see people doing that all of the time; therefore, it must be ok. (I will undoubtedly delete the previous line when Annie is old enough to read, because I can hear those words coming back to haunt me in about 15 years.) We picked out our bread, and Annie insisted on clutching it closely to her chest, like she would her stuffed animals. By the time we got home (yes, she held it like that all the way home), it looked like this:
DEEElicious! The next morning we headed to the lake with bread disaster in tow. And let me say, I seriously underestimated the aggression of a party of ducks and geese. The minute they saw us and that bread, it was on. I actually got a little nervous at one point, and I started to feel the anxiety brought on by a flood of memories of getting attacked by my friend's rooster when I was 9. Ok, maybe "attacked" wasn't the right word, because I didn't end up in the hospital or anything. How about "aggressed." (I don't even think that's a real word, but it should be.) He may have been trying to mate with my leg...I don't know. I just know that after that altercation, the birds and I have been on the outs. (I think it's familial. My little sister was once struck by a wayward pigeon.) Anyway...I got a little nervous.
Once we finished dishing out the bread, which took a whopping 2 minutes, I quickly went into "Ok, now friend turns to foe" mode and began shooing the ducks and geese away. I kind of felt like I was breaking up with them: "Yes I know I said I really liked you, but now you're getting all weird and you're kind of freaking me out!" Because I was uncertain how they'd take the break up, we made a dash for the bench. I thought, "Get the baby to higher ground, because she's waaay plumper looking that I am and, therefore, more delicious looking." So here she is protected by the bench but still corresponding with the geese through the slats:
She kept saying, "Hi, duck. I see you!" And the goose replied with a lot of garble I didn't understand, but Annie seemed to enjoy the conversation. After things cooled down a bit with the bird aggression, I set Annie free to run wild. And there she goes:
I guess that goose had really told her some great things about being a goose, because she kept starting longingly at the lake. ("I bet they don't even have to take naps...")
The poor girl nearly ran herself ragged chasing them, so we took a much needed water break. I realized that Annie, like me, turns beet red when she gets the teeniest bit warm. It's a trait that comes in very handy when you don't feel like exerting much energy. "Really, I'd love to help you move that boulder, but does my face look really red to you? I feel kind of weird? Maybe I should go inside and rest." Lucky, lucky girl.
She enjoyed her drink lakeside:
Then she decided the geese needed some refreshment:
Not a single one would take her up on her offer, so she began being a bit aggressive. Can't help but think she picked that up from the geese.
We really enjoyed the short time we were there, and I was reminded of Annie's fearless nature and of her desire to be friends with everyone. I hope that never changes. As we left, she waved over my shoulder, "Bye, duck! Bye, wah-wah! Bye, lake!" And they all collective replied, "Bye, Annie!" Ok, maybe that was just in my head, but that would have pretty awesome.
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