The flock had seen the Great Lakes, the heads at Mount Rushmore, whatever one calls the empty space between towns in Wyoming. They had seen these attractions all in the course of a week.
The week prior, the birds had traveled over the Appleseed trail, made friends with wild turkeys in New England and tried their best to spot early Norse settlements in Newfoundland with no luck.
Through it all the birds flew, ate and dirtied windshields with glee.
Only their leader, the wise old Frank Goose knew the true reason of their extended trip; he was lost as fu…