Driving by the frozen lake today, The Pony and I spotted ducks on the pond. Oops! That's what your teammates holler at you during your softball game when you come up to bat and the bases are loaded but nobody wants to imply that there's any kind of pressure on you not to strike out. Okay. They are putting pressure on you, shaming you into smacking in some RBIs or be a Casey responsible for the lack of joy in Mudville.
What we saw was GEESE ON THE LAKE. Not bobbing or swimming or diving for a tasty fish tidbit. Geese. ON the lake. Walking. And not very well. They were slipping and sliding all over the place. I guess goose feet are not made for walking. The Pony snapped a couple of blurry pictures on my phone. There's no excuse, really. I was stopped right in the middle of the road. We were a few seconds too late for the grand parade. Just caught the tail-end. The goose caboose.
I guess even geese know that a crowd can crunch right through the fragile ice. Single file. Like mountain climbers across a glacier, separated by regular intervals in case one goes down. They were, however, missing their crampons and ice axes, and were not roped together.
Take a closer look here. We've had a cold snap. So the people who were invited by the city to toss their old Christmas trees into the lake for fish cover had a problem. Oh, they tossed. But the lake was not accepting that day. Or any day since Sunday, it seems. But that's no problem for the folks in Backroads.
Look really close. We do what anybody does who wants to sink a dead something in a lake, never to be seen again. WE TIE CONCRETE BLOCKS TO THE BODY!
You didn't hear that from me. Really.