Sorry this chapter is so short, guys! I promise that the next edition will have a longer entry.
For now, enjoy the next installment in Clancee’s adventures.
***
The Ninth of Wet-Winter
Dear Readers,
I have had a most horrible day, so awful I barely can speak about it.
But for you, readers, I will gladly make the sacrifice.
I found the pond the pigeons were talking about (as I suspected, they lied– it is most definitely a pond, not a lake. A lovely, tidy, clean little pond, but still very much a pond) and was annoyed to discover that a largish group of ducks had already claimed it as their own spot (this is another pet peeve of mine– why do people mix up geese and ducks all the time? The ducks are nowhere near as supreme as geese. I do not understand the constant confusion). However, as geese are in general much larger and more magnificent than ducks, I figured that would not be a problem.
As soon as I had landed in the pond, however, I was suddenly approached by a very large white duck with bulgy black eyes that had a maniacal gleam to them. I suspected that he had rabies… not that ducks CAN get rabies, but if they could, this duck would have them. Except he was swimming in water. Maybe a disease involving equal insanity levels.
“Hey!” The duck shouted, wiggling his tail feathers. “Got any grapes?”
I blinked. “Why, in the name of poultry kind, would I have grapes?”
“I dunno,” he rasped. “I just really want some grapes. So, do you have them?”
“No.”
“Are ya sure?”
“Yes.”
“Sure you’re sure?” He bobbed up and down so much I was surprised his fat little body didn’t capsize.
I leaned forward so he could get a very good look at my bolt-cutter beak. “Listen, you rotund delinquent, I am not in possession, nor will I ever be in possession, of grapes or anything related to grapes. They are nasty, strange tasting little fruits that have no use whatsoever in polite society.”
At this the duck gasped in horror and rolled over so suddenly I thought he had a heart attack and died. Smirking with satisfaction, I began to swim away.
To my dismay he popped back up, tail feathers still waggling. “In that case, do you have any lemonade?”
I stared at him for a minute, wondering if he had been shrink-wrapped when he hatched.
“No.”
“Then I’ll go.” And he waddled away, just like that.
I sighed and shook my head. Ducks. I knew they were strange but this was stranger than strange.
I was feeling peckish, so I wandered up from the pond onto the grass to eat. I noticed the largish buildings near the pond and wondered if there were sammiches. Grass is good and fine, but sammiches… sammiches are something.
And then, someone came OUT of one of the buildings! With a sammich! What a lucky day, I thought, all I have to do is scare the human and snatch his sammich!
So I wandered up to the building, neck outstretched, and I charged him, hissing and wings flung wide. Under normal circumstances, the human would have dropped his sammich and ran, but not this human. Instead he ducked around the corner and pulled out a pitchfork and started whacking me with it.
Well, this was unexpected! All I wanted was his sammich. He didn’t have to beat me with a pitchfork for it.
No offense to any humans out there, but for being the smartest of the species sometimes you are all very dull. You consider yourself being so high and mighty for inventing the sammiches (especially sliced bread sammiches) and growing lettuce, but you must realize the reason the Creator gave you brains for such things is to grow lettuce for the geese of the world.
I hissed and bit the human’s feet, which actually did hurt even through thick boots because as we discussed before, the goose beak doubles as bolt cutters in certain circumstances. The human yowled like a ridiculous Cat-Thing and when he bent down I smacked him very hard in the face with my wing.
This of course made the human very angry and he stabbed at my lovely white wings with his pitchfork. Unfortunately, as glorious as we are, goose feet are not made for running, and he snagged one of my wings and tore several of my favorite flight feathers out (the NERVE of that savage!)
I knew I was beat, and he knew it too. So I did what any self-respecting goose would do. I flapped to a safe distance away, glared back at the mean human, and left a very large green turd in the walkway before marching back to the pond, honking victory.
None of the idiotic ducks seemed to care. That same stupid duck wandered up to me and started talking about grapes again, so fast that I couldn’t really understand his raspy Drakish.
I am not sorry to say that I picked him up by the neck and slammed him into the deepest part of the pond. I hope that snapping turtle eats him.
Now, my flight feathers are torn out, so I can’t fly away. I’m stuck in this horrible place, with way too many ducks and cruel humans.
It is truly the Worst Day of My Life
From a Very Hurt and Possibly Maimed-for-Life Villain’s Ex-Pet Goose,
Clancee
Side note: I did notice that there were some horses in the building. Horses means grain. I am going to sneak in tonight and see if I can break into some grain bags.