A Dead Goose And Some Bagels For His Friends

It was a strange morning. I found myself awake around 6am, which is quite early considering that I took 4 lorazepam, 2 Flexeril and five or so hits off the marijuana pipe last night around 10pm. That usually puts me away until at least 8 or 9. And, par usual, I awoke sweaty and a little scared of something. But I got up, made some coffee, fed the cats, and started doing some unpacking.

Around 10pm, I went out to run some errands, and decided to visit my father in rehab while I was out. I found him in good health and spirits, although we are both concerned about his low blood pressure, which is keeping him in hospital. I may visit him again later today.

As I drove home, I had the window open (as it is quite warm, albeit gray and rainy) and was listening to one of Dvorak's symphonies. I'm not sure which one, but it was definitely Dvorak. What a pleasure it was to drive like that, with the window open and music blaring. Driving is a fine thing, 'tis a shame that it's something I can do only rarely due to my seizure disorder.

As I made my way towards the Gulf station on the Alewife Brook Parkway, I took note of a sad sight; a dead Canadian goose, an apparent victim of a speeding car. It was so large, and I didn't like the idea of it being repeatedly hit by cars until ground into the asphalt. So I pulled over at the nearest side street, took a trash bag out from the trunk, and made my way back to the poor creature. When I first approached it, I was gripped with a fear that perhaps it wasn't dead. That it was only terribly injured and would have to be dispatched. However, as I drew near I realized that it was stone dead. There weren't many cars, thankfully, so I carefully covered the beautiful bird with the plastic bag, and then lifted it inside. The rain would wash the blood away, and I looked to the water for another solution. I walked down to the banks of the Mystic River and gingerly set the goose in the water, and then pushed it away with a long stick I found nearby. Over several minutes, it gently floated out and caught the current. The terrible wound was such that it allowed the body to be filled with water, and it sank lower and lower. As far as I could see, though, it never sank.

I somehow managed to get a little blood on my hands, and I washed them in the river before setting back for the car with the now empty trashbag. After returning the bag to the trunk (to be thrown away later), I noticed that I had some bagels in the back seat of my car. A friend had given them to me and I had forgotten they were there. So I took them back to banks of the river and attracted some ducks and two geese. That was the last time I saw the dead thing I never knew, moving very slowly now and almost submerged.

After getting back to the car, I started wondering if what I had done was somehow strange. Or was it noble? Or both? I don't know, but now I feel weird. One has to avoid being overly sensitive or too easily tormented by what we see in this life. I know that better than anyone. But a very large part of me doesn't care one whit, and I'm encouraged to maintain my strangeness, and sadness, and even horror, at all the ongoing brutality, meaningless death and pain that is fundamental to living.

The desk should be here soon. Very exciting.