Bradley didn’t know that geese hiss until he met one face to face.
The goose was tall, reaching up to Bradley’s hip when it was fully erect, with a black head and a white stripe for a neck. The feathers on its body were a dozen shades of grey, and its big feet gave the goose an awkward waddle.
It stood in front of Bradley on the path, stared at him a moment, then hissed again.
Bradley stared back, frozen in place. Did the hiss mean to stay away? To not move? Would the goose attack, or would it just keep up the stand off, hissing?
The goose relaxed its posture, taking a step to the side, torn between its want of food and the potential threat. It kept its legs ready to leap into the air as it glanced down, then back up.
Bradley stepped forward, and the goose immediately straightened again. Bradley took another step, and the goose hissed.
Bradley needed to pass it to leave the park, and in the absence of any other idea, he hissed back.
The goose hissed, and Bradley hissed again. They circled each other for a minute, hissing back and forth. Finally Bradley realized he was on the side of the path he needed to be. He stopped hissing and took a step backward, then another. The goose relaxed, and Bradley turned and hurried away.
The goose returned to its hunt for food, proud of itself for scaring off the human all on its own.