The farmer, let's call him farmer Dan, stopped wiping his hands. He squinted at me. A slow grin revealed a missing premolar. "Guard duty, huh? You got a fox problem?"
"I have a neighbor problem," I corrected. "I need something that scares people. Something that makes a grown woman question her life choices."
Dan laughed. It was a dry, raspy sound. "Well, son, you don't want the Pilgrims. They're too heavy. You want the Chinese geese, the weeder geese. See them over there?"
He pointed to a pen near the side of the barn. Inside were about a dozen white and brown birds with large knobs on their beaks. They were standing perfectly still, watching us. They didn't look like birds. They looked like a street gang assessing a tourist.
"Are they mean?" I asked.
"Mean mean?" Dan spat on the ground. "See that big white one in the middle? I call him Lucifer."
"Last week, he chased a FedEx truck three miles down the road. He don't bite to eat. He bites because he hates you personally. These birds are loud. They're territorial and they have zero fear of God or man."
"Perfect," I said. "I'll take Lucifer and five of his angriest friends. You got a cage? I have the back of my Ford Explorer."
Dan shook his head. "You're going to regret that, but all right. $50 a bird." "Sold."
The next hour was a blur of feathers, honking, and sheer physical struggle. Catching Lucifer was like trying to wrestle a pillowcase full of bricks that could also pinch you. Dan grabbed him by the neck, gently but firmly, and shoved him into a large dog crate I had bought on the way over. Lucifer hissed. It wasn't a quack. It was a hiss, like a leaking gas pipe.
We managed to get six of them loaded. Lucifer, a gray one I named Attila. A spotted one I named Brutus.
Two identical noisy ones I named Karen and Ripper. And finally, the smallest, but arguably the craziest one, Fluffy. Fluffy had a crazy look in his eye. He kept pecking the metal bars of the cage, testing them.
"Good luck," Dan said as I closed the trunk. "You remember they eat grass and bugs and souls? Mostly grass, though."
The drive home was a nightmare. The smell hit me about five miles in, a mix of wet bird and barnyard funk. The noise was worse. It sounded like I was transporting a symphonic orchestra tuning their instruments in a wind tunnel. Honk, hiss, screech.
I pulled into my driveway at around 2:00 p.m. I looked at Mrs. Higgins's house. Her curtains twitched. She was watching. Good.
I backed the SUV right up to the gate. I didn't want to release them yet. I needed to prep the kill zone. I left them in the car with the windows cracked and the AC running. I'm not a monster to the animals, just to my neighbors. Then I called a contractor I had used for my deck.
"Tony," I yelled into the phone over the sound of the muffled honking from the car. "I have a rush job. Triple rate if you can come out today."
"Mike, is everything okay? You sound manic."
"I'm fantastic, Tony. I need you to reinforce my fence. I need it to be escape-proof, and I need you to mount some signs. Heavy-duty signs."
"What kind of signs?"
"I'll text you the design. Just bring your drill and some long bolts. We're building a fortress."
Tony arrived an hour later. He was a big guy, seen it all, done it all. But when he saw the crates in the back of my car, he took a step back.
"Are those geese?"
"Chinese geese," I corrected. "Security personnel."
Tony looked at me, then at the birds, then back at me. "Mike, did you lose your job? Is this a meth thing? You can tell me."
"It's a Higgins thing," I said.
Tony's face darkened. He had done work on Higgins's house before. He knew.
"Say no more. Where do you want the signs?"
I had printed them at the local office supply store on rigid aluminum blanks. Bright red background. Bold white text. Warning.
Biological security system in place. Aggressive waterfowl. Enter at your own risk. Not responsible for injury or loss of dignity.
"I want one every 10 feet," I said. "And one right on the gate. Bolt it through the wood so it can't be unscrewed from the outside."
Tony went to work. He reinforced the bottom of the fence with chicken wire so the geese couldn't squeeze under. He checked the latches. He mounted the signs. The zip zip of his impact driver was the music of my revenge.
By 5:00 p.m., the yard was ready. We had also assembled a quick coop, a prefab shed I had in the garage that we converted into a shelter with straw bedding.
"All right," Tony said, packing up his tools. "I'm leaving. I do not want to be here when you let the Krakens out."
"Smart man," I said. I paid him in cash and added a generous tip.
"Mike," Tony said, leaning out the window of his truck. "Seriously, don't turn your back on them."
"I won't."
I waited until Tony left. Then I opened the back of my SUV. I carried the crates one by one into the backyard.
I set them in a semicircle facing the house. I took a deep breath. I climbed onto the deck safely behind the railing. I reached down with a broom handle and unlatched the first crate.
Lucifer burst out. He didn't run. He strutted. He spread his wings, which were surprisingly large, and let out a honk that shook the leaves off the oak tree. He looked around, saw the green grass, saw the pool, saw the space. He claimed it instantly.
I released the others. Attila, Brutus, Karen, Ripper, and Fluffy joined the formation. They started grazing immediately, ripping up weeds with a violence that was impressive.