Geese

Giant chevrons of geese fly overhead as I walk my dog up the street.
Hundreds of noisily honking geese in V formation.
Dutifully following the ride-captain.
Migrating south for the winter.
Reminds of my family’s web-site.
“Hey, where ya goin’?” one goose honks.
“Yeah, who elected you leader?” another goose squawks.
“Would it kill ya to ask for directions?”
“Lead, follow, or get outta the way!” the lead goose bellows.
“I also don’t need no directions. I know where I’m goin’.”
“We’re supposed to be headed south. You got us headed west.”
“Honk-honk-honk!”
“Nobody else is headin’ this migration. I am the maximum poobah of geese.
What are you, some kinna liberial? Shaddup and follow, or ice-flow for you, baby!”

• Our current dog is “Scarlett;” a rescue Irish-Setter. She’s five, and is our sixth Irish-Setter. (A “rescue Irish Setter” is an Irish Setter rescued from a bad home; e.g. abusive or a puppy-mill. By getting a rescue-dog, we avoid puppydom, but the dog is often messed up. —Scarlett isn't too bad.)
• “Liberial” is how my loudmouthed macho brother-from-Boston noisily insists “liberal” is spelled. (Recently it’s “liberila” or “libieral.”) —He is often the “ride-captain“ leading his buddies on motorcycle-rides (he rides a Harley), and claims to be all-knowing.