“We’re at a beach in Canada, Bo. You’re gonna hear geese,” I say, continuing to whisper for whatever absurd reason. “They hate me.” Bo turns his head toward a sound over the water to our left, his shoulders up to his ears. “They hate you….” “They go for my leg every time. I don’t know if it’s because it’s shiny and they like that, or if geese are just little ableist fucks, but they’re always trying to attack me.”
