Left behind: A single goose

As Friday’s downpour sputtered out at last, I stepped outside the Inquirer’s office in Cherry Hill and was startled by the sight of a Canada goose.

He was walking, weaving and head-bobbing in the signature way of all geese.

But he was all alone.

In this office park where dozens (hundreds? Thousands?) of his fellows have fed, shed and relieved themselves with fine-feathered abandon, and where my colleagues and I have watched several broods of goslings grow up this summer, just a single bird.

Earlier today, when I heard that the entire flock has apparently been...removed ( as was done recently in Voorhees)  I cheered.

Not in a mean way, mind you; I do acknowledge that Canada geese are impressive creatures. It's just that there are far too many of them in far too many places they don’t belong. I’ve witnessed (ok, almost been involved in) a couple of mishaps in the parking lot where they are wont to so jauntily jaywalk.

Until today.

Watching the solitary gander meander in what really does look like a state of "where is everybody?" confusion, I can’t help but feel for the guy.

Except that I know something about his bretheren, even though he may not.

They’ll be back.