The Shell Game

What could you do differently?

The owner/operator of Tarheel Goose Management showed me his latest service upgrade: a radio-controlled speedboat. I was mystified. 

“What is that—“ I started but he held up a finger. “Watch,” he said.

He looked at his two border collies sitting nearby, watching him intently. “Hay yup!” he shouted. “Gip!”

The two dogs streaked toward a gaggle of Canada geese that sat on the banks of our site’s three-acre pond. At the approach of the dogs, they unhurriedly waddled into the water and made their way to the other side.

The owner, Kevin, directed the dogs with a series of whistles and arm movements; I was amazed at their intelligence and speed. But I could see it was a losing proposition. The geese simply kept swimming to different banks of the pond as the dogs, working in tandem, tried in vain to corral them. When the geese had had enough, they simply congregated in the middle with bored expressions. It was a stalemate.

Kevin picked up the boat and walked towards the bank. “Now,” he said. “Watch.”

He placed the boat in the water and pushed it out several feet. With the click of a few knobs, it raced towards the geese. Startled, and hemmed in by the dogs, they burst as one from the pond. Our last sight of them was them winging their way west over the treetops as Kevin gave a triumphant whoop.

I can’t believe what we’re paying this guy to do this.

Don’t get me wrong; we were a wildlife-friendly site, accredited by the Wildlife Habitat Council. We used the pond in constructive ways. Employees brought their old Christmas trees to the site and our wildlife team sank them to create fish nesting beds. We worked with Scouts to create reptile basking platforms and a hibernaculum. We taught students how to test water quality.

But the geese were an issue.

While most geese migrate, millions do not and live year round in temperate climes. During nesting season, they become aggressive. Their droppings, noise, and destruction of turf cause problems in a business environment.

But because of their protected status, it’s illegal in the US to harm them. All landowners may do is remove nests before eggs are laid, or chase them away.

Thus the need for an outfit like Tarheel Goose Management. Visiting executives considering a multimillion dollar contract generally did not like getting chased, pecked or buffeted by an angry goose, or stepping in a fresh load of green excrement.

Nor did employees enjoy being attacked in the parking lot, or finding their car covered in filth after a long day. 

Our neighbors in NC’s Research Triangle Park all suffered the goose headache, particularly during breeding season. And Kevin was the go-to guy for everybody. But it was a rigged game.

From IBM, the geese flew to neighboring Cisco. From Cisco, they went to GSK; from GSK to Lenovo; and so forth. By afternoon they’d be back, contentedly swimming, defecating, and chasing employees. But it allowed HR to claim “something’s being done.”

With his two dogs and his speedboat, and from what I knew of his customer base, Kevin was easily clearing six figures a year. 

I’ll be the first to admit I struggle with clutter. I find it very difficult to throw things away, either because of sentimental attachment; the notion I might use something “some day;” or simply that it looks like it belongs to something and the day after I toss it, I’ll find out what.

So, like the geese, stuff goes from the garage to the bonus room. From the bonus room it makes it to the attic, and from the attic, back to the garage. I’ve been moving this stuff around for years. And while nobody’s paying me six figures to do it, the time and frustration take an increasing toll each year.

Both my middle and youngest kid moved out last year. They’ve taken what they want, but their rooms are filled with leftover junk that makes me look around for sixty seconds before retreating in despair. Overwhelmed, it’s I’ll think about it later as I head out to the garage for a cold one and some guitar time.

But with the new year comes new opportunities, ones I will not squander. This year, it’s damn the torpedos. Starting with the master bath, I have spent one hour a day grimly chucking stuff as another part of me wails. A kitschy little souvenir house from a vacation to Myrtle Beach in 2011. A wrist band from a Polar Plunge in 2017. Incredibly, a half-empty box of pine incense from a trip to Maine almost 40 years ago.

It’s emotionally exhausting, but I figure by July 4th, the stupid geese will be gone for good.

Then I’ll start on the tens of thousands of pictures on the family computer.

Or maybe not. Maybe that would be a good 2027 project.

Possibly 2028. 😎

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