Why I Hate Birds #2

I was 7 or 8.

It was summer and I lived in Eastern Ontario. My parents thought it would be nice to drive a few hours down to Scarborough to visit the Toronto Metro Zoo.

What a fantastic day this was!

I saw every animal you could imagine. Except the Tazmanian Devil because it was being a douche and wouldn't come out from under the bush. But I saw every other animal! I was ecstatic to see pink flamingos, balancing on one leg, just like in the cartoons. I saw lions and tigers and elephants. Giraffes, koalas, black bears, hippos. Rhinoceri, peacocks, polar bears.

I was amazed.

It took the whole day to tour the whole zoo, and we couldn't even cover it all.
We took a break at a picnic table, which had loads of Canadian geese around it.

Let me give you the backstory here:

EVERYWHERE in the zoo are signs that say: DO NOT FEED THE GEESE.

End of backstory.

Well, naturally, we thought it was because people food would be bad for the geese.

WRONG!

My dad. I love him. But, when he reads a sign, he laughs at it, and decides to do the opposite of what it says. Today was no exception. Our little family of four stood near the picnic table, eating our snacks, which happened to be Fruit Roll Ups. Yum! My dad decided to experiment, and gave a little piece to a goose who was brave enough to approach him.

Apparently, Fruit Roll Up is like cocaine to geese.

That stupid goose. He went back and told all of his other little goose friends about this newfound delicacy.

Once more, it all happened so fast.

They came closer. All the geese, and surrounded the table. I was the only one sitting at the table. They zeroed in on me. My family stood on the outside. I stood on the table. (I didn't want to get bit again!) They came closer.

Next thing I knew, I was completely surrounded by these chanting geese, trying to sacrifice me to their goose god.

My reaction was a mix of this:




















And this:



















After what felt like hours of being trapped on that table, my dad FINALLY barged in and scared them away.

What took him so long, you ask?

He and my brother could not stop laughing at my trauma.

Why I Hate Birds

I was 5. Maybe 4, the trauma has left my memory a little fuzzy.

I lived in Southern Ontario, and my kindergarten class was taking a trip to what I believe was some sort of petting zoo, with no animal petting involved. I remember a cool playground, and a cage of turkeys. The children would surround the cage, and scream: "GOBBLE GOBBLE GOBBLE GOBBLE GOBBLE!!!!!" until one of the turkeys would gobble. When it did, everyone cheered.

I'm not talking about caged turkeys.

No, I'm talking about rogue swans.

If you have never experienced swans, then you are lucky. AVOID THESE BIRDS. They are evil, hateful beasts with no fear and a vendetta against all of God's creations out of bitterness for God making them ugly as ducklings. No bird carries a grudge like a swan.

But on that day, I had never seen one before.

My mom was one of the parent volunteers, supervising the kids. Her and I took a little stroll, and found ourselves on a wooden footbridge. We stopped, and looked down at the stream running under the bridge.

And there it was.

"Mom, look!" I said, and pointed to the beautiful bird. My mom informed me that it was a swan. We watched as it was about to swim under our feet.


















It all happened so fast.

The swan was right under our feet. All of a sudden, the evil creature from the dark waters began gnawing on my little foot, which was poking out of the bottom of the bridge. It was eating my little pink rubber boot! It had a wild look in its eyes, and I'm pretty sure it had razor sharp teeth.













I screamed. And cried.

I was pretty sure my foot was being bitten off by this psycho bird, sent from hell.

My mom comforted me by saying, "Calm down. You have boots on. You can't even feel any pain".

Maybe not, but it was the principle of the whole thing.