It's not like something out of these video games that humans play, where you get to honk around, be silly, or fake like, I don't know, a goat or a ceramic mug.
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Being a goose isn't all it's cracked up to be. That's the thing I keep coming back to in my little goose brain: this all feels very whimsical. They goad me along, like something out of one of those children's television shows I've heard about. But mostly, I like these little piano melodies. I could've been great at piano, Mama Goose. I've always resented that my mother didn't encourage my artistic side when I was a gosling. And when I alarm someone, the piano ditty sounds a little scarier, like something is about to happen. When I see people going about their routines, a floaty piano melody plinks in the background, as if I should notice what they're doing. Rogers’ NeighborhoodĪs I'm doing all of this, I hear music. I hear a "swip" sound of a pencil dragging across my list. But the farmer still can't find me, and thus, he covers his bald head with the sun hat. Honk! That's it! I can reach the hat when he bends down, so I do that, run to some shrubs, and hide by lowering my neck. After knocking out some simpler tasks on the list, I notice that when I pluck a rose from the farmer's garden, he keeps bending down to replant the rose. What else can I do? Think, goose brain, think. It asks me at one point to get the farmer to "wear a sun hat." I see the farmer, who's wearing a really small hat, and I see the sun hat, which is out of my reach altogether. I dragged the rake far enough, dropped it into the water, and laughed again.īut other stuff on the list isn't so clear. My first list suggested that I drag a farmer's rake into a lake. Why do I have to be annoying? I don't know why my list asks me to annoy everyone. These little things always seem to annoy people. Sometimes, it'll tell me to do something simple: pick something up, then drag it somewhere else. It did the trick.Īlso, I can take my sweet time and ignore the list, but it's a comforting thing to refer to. Someone wrote on it in nice, cursive handwriting.
Maybe it was under one of these worthless wings the whole time. I said "duck." That's a bird joke.Īfter waddling through the open gate, I heard a rustle of notebook paper, and I realized I had a list. I could tell I needed to duck my head to pull one post in the grass, then raise my head to yank another post. Then I saw a gate, but it was bolted shut. Then I saw a tin can, and I got this sneaking sensation that I should bend down again and pick it up with my beak, which was also fun.
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Don't ask me how.) I saw a log, and I heard a voice tell me how to lower my neck to go under it. I shook my head from my nap, peeked out from a shrub, and began exploring. I woke up in a quiet little field a little while ago. Eventually, you'll reach the other side, at which point you can more easily return to various zones of goose silliness. We can't reach that handle from this side.
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