"And they are the presidents of the backyard," I said. "Look, if you stay very still, they might lose interest in about 20 minutes. Or you can make a run for the gate. Kevin seems to have abandoned you."
I pointed to the gate. Kevin was gone. He was probably halfway to his car.
"I am calling the police," she screamed, fumbling for her phone in her pocket.
"Go ahead," I said. "I'll wait."
It took 12 minutes for the police to arrive. I know this because I timed it. During those 12 minutes, Mrs. Higgins remained perched on my patio table, clutching her knees while the geese settled into a comfortable loafing formation around the base.
They weren't attacking anymore. They were just waiting. It was psychological warfare.
Every time she tried to shift her weight or lower a foot, Fluffy would stretch his neck out and let out a low, guttural hiss that sounded like a tire deflating, and she would scramble back to the center of the table. I stayed inside, finishing my coffee, watching the scene unfold like a slow-motion nature documentary, where the predator is a waterfowl and the prey is a middle-aged woman in khakis.
When the squad car pulled up, I saw the flashing lights reflect off my living room window. I sighed, put my mug in the dishwasher, and walked out the front door to meet them. I wanted to control the narrative before they saw the hostage situation in the backyard.
Two officers stepped out. One was a burly guy who looked like he'd been on the force for 20 years. Officer Miller, according to his badge. The other was younger, looking a bit confused by the dispatch call.
"Sir," Officer Miller said, hitching his belt. "We got a call about, well, the dispatcher said, a woman being eaten by dinosaurs. We assumed that was a typo."
"Ah, yes," I said, putting on my best concerned neighbor face. "That would be Mrs. Higgins. She's in the backyard. She's indisposed."
"Is she injured?" the younger officer asked, hand resting instinctively near his holster.
"Only her pride," I said. "And maybe her vocal cords. She's been screaming for a while. Come on back, but please watch your step and read the signs."
I led them down the side path. I stopped at the gate. I pointed to the red sign. Danger. Aggressive geese. Enter at your own risk.
Miller read it out loud. "Aggressive geese." He looked at me, one eyebrow raised.
"Security system," I explained. "City Ordinance 44B. They're fully legal."
We walked to the gate. I could hear Higgins yelling, "Officer, help. Shoot them. Shoot them all."
Miller peered through the slats of the fence. He saw Higgins on the table. He saw the six geese sitting calmly in the grass. He looked back at me. He had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop from laughing. I saw it.
"Ma'am," Miller called out.
"They are monsters," Higgins shrieked. "I am trapped. That man set a trap for me. Arrest him."
"Sir," Miller said to me, "can you call off your birds?"
"I can try," I said. "But they don't speak English. They speak violence."
I opened the gate. The geese stood up instantly, necks craning.
"Hey, Lucifer, back off!" I yelled, clapping my hands.
Lucifer looked at me, then at the cops. He seemed to calculate the odds. He let out a honk that sounded suspiciously like whatever and waddled toward the shed. The others followed, albeit reluctantly. Fluffy gave Higgins one last side-eye before retreating.
Miller walked into the yard, keeping a wary eye on the shed. He helped Mrs. Higgins down from the table. She was trembling. Her pants were covered in dirt from her shoes. Her hair was a bird's nest of its own.
"Thank God," she panted, clutching Miller's arm. "You need to arrest him. Assault with a deadly weapon. Reckless endangerment. Kidnapping."
"Kidnapping?" Miller asked. "Ma'am, did he force you into the yard?"
"Well, no," she stammered. "I entered to perform an inspection, as is my right as HOA president."
"Did you unlock the gate?" Miller asked, pulling out a notepad.
"It was unlocked. He left it unlocked to lure me in."
"And did you see the sign?" Miller pointed to the bright red metal square on the gate post.
She hesitated. "I... I thought it was a joke. A decoration."
"Ma'am," Miller sighed, closing his notepad. "You entered a fenced property marked with a warning sign. The homeowner was not present to escort you. Technically, you were trespassing."
"Trespassing?" Her voice went up three octaves. "I am the president of the association. I have an easement right."
"Show me the easement papers," Miller said.
"I... I don't have them on me. They are in the bylaws."
"Then this is a civil matter," Miller concluded. "We can't arrest a man because you walked into his yard and got spooked by his pets."
"They aren't pets," she screamed, pointing a shaking finger at the shed where Lucifer was now watching us from the doorway like a bouncer at a club. "They are wild beasts."
"They are livestock," I interjected helpfully. "Registered poultry."
Miller turned to me. "Sir, keep your birds contained. If they get out on the street, we have a problem. As long as they stay behind this fence and you have those signs up, you're within the law."