There were three of them; a couple and I don’t-know-who.
They were very trusting; they stayed only about seven feet in front of us, telling me that the only thing that people were throwing at them was bread. Life at the pond in St. John’s Conservation Area was good.
Then they, one by one, started to luxuriously lean their long necks back and stroke them on their feathers. Then they started to meticulously preen themselves. Then they stood up on one leg and stretched the other webbed-foot leg way back; then they wiggled their bums and sat down. Canada goose yoga.
My Wylde Lyfe 