The Very Real and True Diary of a Villain’s Pet Goose– Part One

(soooo I decided to give my DOTA/SOTA villain a pet goose, and since this goose, Clancee, has turned into such a character, I thought I would have some fun and write an epistolary story about Clancee chronicling some of his… escapades. Hope you enjoy!)

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The Seventh of Wet-Winter (otherwise known as February to the humans)

Dear Reader,

There are some facts you should know about me.

One: I fully expect this book to one day become published and gloriously famous, even though this is a private journal scribbled by beak in a little composition notebook Mortimer tried to throw away.

Two: I am a goose.

Should I have started out with that fact? Perhaps. It seems more important now that I think about it. After all, very few geese can write, let alone create a tome about their life. This is mostly because we are a one-track mind species, and can only focus on so many things at once.

But when you are a villain’s pet goose, many things can happen that are Out of The Ordinary.

I should have also started with that. Yes, my human is technically the Villain of the Story, according to Some People. I don’t know why Some People believe that, as Mortimer is a nice enough human to me, feeding me lettuce and sammiches and sharing sammiches (and before you argue about my spelling, sammiches IS the correct word. They are not sand witches, they are sammiches. Understand? Good.) but apparently when you steal people’s DNA to create clones, it means that Some People do not like you.

But enough about that. This is a story about ME, isn’t it?

A story, specifically, about how I’m getting fired. The first villain’s pet goose to every be fired.

Who is firing me?

Myself.

I am firing myself from my own job.

Because as wonderful as Mortimer is, he has NOT been wonderful to me lately. He has refused me sammiches and said I was making a mess in his office. Exgoose me, I am MUCH tidier than most geese, and he has never had a problem with it before.

Anyway, I’m packing up and leaving home, flying the coop. Maybe I’ll find another human to feed me lettuce and sammiches. This journal is to chronicle my adventures so that I can make Mortimer feel bad about being left out.

Anyway, I must sign off and start flying, before one of the Not Nice humans who works with Mortimer takes my book away.

From a Villain’s Ex-Pet Goose,

Clancee

The Eighth of Wet-Winter

Dear Reader,

Flying in wet winter sucks.

Also, flying is hard.

Also also, I dropped my lovely pen, so now I am scratching this with a small piece of rock and wood called a pencil that I found by a road hole.  Maybe it’s for the better, because ink smears in this wet weather.

I have been flying for a day now, holding this notebook in my beak. It’s been very lonely because you can’t speak to other geese when you are flying with a notebook in your mouth. But maybe it’s for the better– I don’t really get along well with other geese anyway. They say I am annoying and talk too much, but that is highly irrational and I cannot for the life of me understand why on earth they would feel such a way. 

It’s very cold and wet. I’ve taken shelter under the steps of a human house for the night, out of the snow. I don’t like snow, even though I am technically a Snow Goose. Snow makes my feet cold and freezes onto my wonderful white feathers. But spring is still a long time away, so I must make do with what I have.

I heard some rumors (from some fat pigeons, mind you, pigeons are not usually The Most Reliable of Birds) that there is a lovely large lake (another thing– geese are obsessed with alliteration. I knew of a Canadian Goose named Herbert who tried so hard to speak in all alliteration that his heart exploded. Or maybe it was the fact that he was talking so much about alliteration that he didn’t see the Very Obvious Hunter behind him with a bang stick. It could honestly be one or the other) nearby where humans will drop the outside of sammiches. I do like bread. Bread is half sammich. Two pieces of bread is three-quarters sammich. Breadcrumbs dropped in grass is a microsammich.

(can you tell I am hungry? Or am I just thinking about sammiches? I think about sammiches most of the time. They are wonderful things).

I’m going to go see if the humans here left any sammiches lying around. And if you happen to live nearby, could you drop me a sammich, reader? I could really use one.

From a Very Cold and Very Very Hungry Villain’s Ex-Pet Goose,

~Clancee

Possibly same day~

(side note: there were no sammiches. There was a Very Angry and Possibly Rabid Dog. But no sammiches)