When I was a child, we lived on an acreage. On our acreage was our house, it was actually an underground house.
Artist Sketch
Side note: apparently I am an amazingly accurate artist.
So one day my mom was home, cleaning the house with the windows open. As you can see the windows are at ground level. No screens of course, that way we didn't have to use the stairs, we would just jump in and out of them. While she was cleaning, she heard a crazy murder noise outside and saw that our dog was attacking a Canadian goose out in the yard. Being a hero, she ran out to get the dog away from the goose. She was chasing the dog away and the goose escaped. Not seeing it anywhere she was all *shoulder shrug* "Meh!" and returned to the house. When she got inside she found the goose had gotten inside by jumping through the window and was FREAKING out, which is to be expected I guess. Eventually she was able to get it out of the house but it was injured so it couldn't fly away. So it just hung out by the apple tree, chillin'.
Once we got home we decided to net the thing. Basically we ran around screaming like banshees taking turns throwing some kind of definitely not a goose net thing over it while it hissed and tried to bite us. Finally we got the hammock or what ever the hell we were using on the goose and I tackled it to the ground like Steve Irwin tackles crocodiles in heaven. We put it in the box and planned on taking it this pond area in town where all the other geese hang out. I think we assumed one of the other geese was a goose shaman and would be able to magically heal it's broken ass wing. None of what we did that day made any god damn sense. We dropped my little sister off at my mom's boyfriend's house and heading to the pond to reunite it with it's family. By the time we got there it was already dead. It had been dead for a while. THEEE END!
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