Bernie planned out his route more and kept the insistent Oliver updated on the entire operation. He took a break and turned to watch the New Wingless One go back to the two-wheeled motorcycle and start messing with it. The Regular dumped their empty containers of liquid feces inside a bigger container several yards away. It turned to look at him for a moment, with a curious expression. It then pointed down to its foot subtly. He looked at it, and it tapped out the letters S-O-S. He looked between its face and its foot in confusion. SOS? What does that mean? Did it want him to repeat it back to her? Probably. So he did.
"S. O. S."
Its face lit up. But before any of them could so anything else, the New called out to it in their strange language. The Regular nodded and jogged over on its nightmare-ish legs, and they promptly drove away. He turned back to his gaggle. A small group was near, and they looked at him. Aubrey, Simon, and Oliver were attentively awaiting further plans.
"Alright," Bernie told them. "I'm thinking we go for a quarter-day, then we take a quarter-day break. Sleep, food, yes. Then we repeat the cycle, so we travel for a whole half-day per day without tiring ourselves out. I think we can handle that." The gang nodded. Speed was important, but getting every goose to the South alive and whole was also important. "I'm going to go assess every goose in this flock. I'm going to separate the strong fliers from the weak ones. The weak will be in front so the strong can catch them if they fall behind. Of course, I'll be in the very front navigating as usual. And it will be the usual V shape. Can't go looking like Steward's flock, heh."
Steward was a rival duck. He was an idiot. He was a duck.
One year, he had the innovative idea of migrating his flock in a circle-shape. A circle! Unheard of! Never done before! Yes, never done before... and never done again. Reportedly, 5 ducks got lost and never rejoined the circle. And he was behind schedule, too. He was the mockery and laughingstock of the whole bird community. A circle! Ridiculous!
Simon chuckled.
"Nope. That duck couldn't tell South from North." This brought peals of laughter from all who were listening. A lame joke to you, perhaps, but comedy gold to the geese. Bernie toddled off to survey the flock.
YOU ARE READING
The Goose Chronicles
General FictionBernard the goose navigator is having some problems migrating his flock Southwards. It's early November and his gaggle is still northward. He's a goose, though. What would you expect? Bronwyn, the geese-watching girl, observes the gaggle's many iss...
