Fowl play

We spent the morning at Gibson Park yesterday and it quickly became the most adventurous trip to the park we've ever experienced.

Ever. 

One of the great attractions of this particular park is the huge pond and water fountain in the middle of it inhabited by a myriad of ducks, geese, and three impressive swans who usually keep to themselves and don't pay much attention to the riffraff (i.e. everyone else).  

You see, they're just so far above the mindless bread-begging that the other birds take part in that they can't be bothered with such pandering to people so little.

So you can imagine our surprise when, after dispersing our bread amongst the squawking masses, two of these gorgeous swans made their way to the pier we were standing on.  

"Look kids, I cooed, "Look at the swans- they're so graceful and beautiful!"

Mere seconds after the words left my mouth and this shot was taken all hell broke loose when Sam, apparently leaning too close to the railing, and wearing a white shirt too much resembling a large slice of bread, teased one of these seemingly calm and collected animals to the breaking point.

Through my camara lens I watched as one of the swans flapped its wings, leaping up out of the water and sending a spray over the birds behind it as it snapped again and again at Sam.  It clamped its beak onto the front of his shirt and, batting its wings wildly in a noisy commotion, repeatedly jerked him against the metal barrier trying to pull him into the water.  I've never loved a piece of metal more in my life!

It was a completely chaotic blur.  Sam was screaming, the swan was all over the place, feathers and water flying in every direction.  Reese went crazy shrieking, "Save Sam!  SAVE SAM!", and thankfully, with the lightening reflexes we mothers are blessed with, I dropped my camera and snatched the back of my baby's shirt, yanking him out of the psycho animal's grip before they both tumbled into the murky water.

And just as quickly as it had begun it was over, the lunatic swans turned and quietly paddled away, acting as though nothing had happened.  I held my two weeping babes close and did my best to calm what I can only anticipate as a new-found, life-long fear of trumpeter swans in the making.
We retreated to a concrete table where old men sit and play checkers and where we gathered our wits over a few peanut butter granola bars.  Sam sniffed and rubbed his eyes as he devoured his snack-- almost being eaten alive by a swan with a sudden overwhelming hunger for toddler can really take it out of you.

Reese spoke emphatically between bites, "Mommy, that was a very, VERY angry swan!  I think he needs some space."

Once we'd all calmed down a bit I asked Sam what had happened.  He lifted his shirt and pointed to his (thankfully) unscarred tummy,

"Disss."  was all he said.

I couldn't have found better words to describe a notably tranquil creature's sudden mental breakdown.

It occurs to me that perhaps I should have contacted Animal Control or the like to prevent a similar event from happening again, but I'm not sure I could pick the culprit out of a lineup.

And also, I'm fairly certain the pond snobs would have stuck together anyway.