Fully engaged in breakfast, the gaggle barely moves with my arrival. The lake is quiet, all are intent on eating. One lone long neck stands above the rest, ever vigilant; when this head bends down for some food, another pops up to take its place. Order and cooperation rule on the lake shore this morning.
A loaf of French bread, tossed in their midst, changes everything. No longer content to search on their own for what they need; the geese now race to this gift from their human benefactor, honking and pecking to grab what they can. The air is filled with their fighting; all memories of this peaceful morning are gone. One after the other, they grab the loaf, which is many times larger than their beaks can hold, and run away. It is no longer about getting enough to eat; it is about ownership and having the most. Peace does not ensue again until the entire loaf is gone and there is nothing to do but search quietly in the grass for sustenance.
