The last of the geese have frozen over in my backyard, covered in a foot of snow. I dig one out each week and thaw it in the fridge—with a high success rate; even the runt is able to take flight after a few days at 50 degrees. I set them on their feet, tell them “You’re free, go home!” they thank me and fly out the front door, they go North confused, then swoop around and start back South. My two black labs don’t understand, they watch me eat macaroni and cheese and iceberg lettuce and complain how hungry I am.