Foster Gosling

Foster Gosling

‘Look — OUCH — I’m just trying to — OW — get my tablecloth back!’

A flurry of feathers, hubbub of honking, and plethora of pecks accompanied my plea. The geese swarmed around me, fearless as I waded through their midst, wincing and flinching.

Under the table hid a sinuous feathered dragon about the size of a cat. My tablecloth, now ripped and muddy, trailed from its teeth.

‘HONK!’ said the dragon.

I was never fostering anything with geese ever again.

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