Many year later, at the beach when I was 12 years old, I once again encountered the evil goose species in much the same manner. What began as a mutual exchange of goodwill in which I fed a goose breadcrumbs in exchange for its allowing me to pet it ended when the goose decided it was tired of eating bread and preferred to have a taste of my hair instead.
In the intervening years, I overcame my distaste for winged and feathered organisms and even began to appreciate their peculiarly silly existences. For example, roosters. Roosters existed to be chased around fake barnyards in fake historical villages. Seagulls served generally the same purpose. That was a pretty good use for a species.
And other birds existed chiefly for me to photograph them in movement.
But yesterday, the evil avians once again broke my fragile trust in them. I was reading by Botany Pond when several no-account, turd-sized sparrows arrived at my side and just sat looking at me. I thought I'd give them a gentle poke, figuring that if they didn't want to be poked, they'd leave, and if they did, they'd tolerate it. I did not anticipate that the little monsters would retaliate and try to eat my finger. But, oh, they did. Bastards.
Fortunately, sparrows have laughably weak bite. I could bite that whole sparrow harder than it could bite my finger. Still, I'm insulted. What the members of the whole Aves class do not seem to understand is that they are MY food, not vice versa. And if they don't believe it, I'm going to start walking around campus with a frying pan to prove it.