According to local rock station FMX, Lubbock has spent the last few months auditioning for the lead role in a low-budget horror flick. Thousands of geese have been dropping dead across the Hub City, creating a scenic landscape of rotting feathers and “uncomfortable conversations.” While city crews have been busy playing a high-stakes game of whack-a-mole with bird carcasses, officials have been working overtime to assure us that everything is totally fine and definitely not the plot of 28 Days Later.
Naturally, because these geese apparently have a sense of comedic timing, they chose to die in the very waterways that feed into the city’s water treatment system. While the average resident might look at a floating, diseased carcass and think “maybe I shouldn’t drink that,” the City is quick to remind us that our water is filtered, purified, and disinfected. So, rest easy: if you turn into a mindless thrall, it won’t be because of the goose-juice in your tap; it’ll just be the standard Lubbock Sunday afternoon lethargy.
What’s truly impressive is the article’s commitment to calling this a “strange event” or “mass wildlife illness” while avoiding the two words everyone has known for months: Avian Flu. It’s the ultimate Lubbock move—treat a literal plague like it’s just a “cinematic” quirk of nature rather than a predictable result of a virus that’s been circulating since the last time the South Plains Mall was relevant.
We’re told the situation has “safely returned to normal,” which in Lubbock terms means the smell of decaying waterfowl has finally been overtaken by the usual scent of the feedlots. The city officials gave us the same calm reassurance they give us about the potholes and the power grid, and we’re all supposed to just breathe a collective sigh of relief—preferably while not standing too close to a park pond.
Honestly, if even the geese are literally dying to leave this town, what does that say about those of us who are still here?
