Geese invaded our lawn recently, leaving nasty, squidgy reminders of their presence all over the grass. I tried to set the dog on them, but being that he’s a miniature poodle and he prefers to snuffle around beneath the pine trees, they gave a half-hearted avian shrug and continued destroying our yard. I tried honking the car horn, and even resorted to chasing them while making ridiculous shooing noises. They gave me languid looks and eventually flew off, only to return a little bit later. These birds make me look like an idiot.
I told my husband and a few days later, a box labeled “Lifelike stalking Predator COYOTE” showed up at the front door. It “unfolds to life-size!” We’re counting on the fact that our geese must be exceedingly stupid if a fold-out COYOTE will scare them away, when an adult-sized person waving their arms in a windmill motion screaming “GIT!!” will not.
I went outside to take a photo of said coyote because, instagram, and I saw a tractor-trailer pull up across the street. It said, “Call Ferguson. We deliver your dreams.” I wanted to dial them up with the list I keep squirreled away in my Someday pocket. First, I want them to remove the geese. Then, perhaps they could work on peace in my home, calorie-less brownies, children who obey, the ants invading the upstairs bathroom, my piano playing skills, spring weather, my inability to cook a decent steak, and consistent work for a frustrating writing career. If they could add more hours into my day too, that would be greatly appreciated.
I came back inside, and I stared out the window at the truck for a moment. I wanted to make a wish on its greasy hubcap. But, I know the only one who can deliver any of these things is the Almighty, with a little help from me, and if we’re lucky, a fold-out coyote.
