I grew up with animals, both domesticated and wild. They fascinated me. I longed to understand what they were thinking, to experience the world as they did. Early on I developed an affinity for taming wild and feral creatures. I have a picture of me holding geese that lived at the small lake where my father launched his sail boat. Picnickers threw scraps to them, so they didn’t fly off in panic at the sight of humans. But they didn’t let you get too close, either. They would “slow walk” away, honking vague warnings and keeping an eye out for any food.
I didn’t need to feed them. I just came among them and we sat quietly, testing the wind and watching my dad sail up and down the lake for hours. I petted and eventually held them. I chose, for a time to live like a goose, and they accepted me. But it’s not like they loved me or anything. If someone else showed up with a bag of bread, they were gone.
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