Studying Canadian Geese

10 years is a long time to spend researching Canadian geese. Some might even call it obsessive. Insane. Macabre. I don't call it anything any more. I relentlessly pursue them. When I close my eyes, all I see is their bleak, emotionless faces. When I put my fingers in my ears, I hear the constant quack-quack-quack of an an echoless form.
Yes, the Canadian goose has a nasty peck and they leave a scar.
This all started when I was summoned to meet a rich billionaire by the name of Mr. C. Goose. He had plans for a massive 10 year research project on the Canada goose, which would involve me moving to Canada and watching the geese as they paddled around the lake. He struck me as an eccentric fellow, naked except for a waistcoat and invariably eating bits of soggy bread.
"My daughter was killed by a Canadian goose." He said to me on our first meeting. "She was asleep in bed when it happened. The beast flew in through the window and laid an egg in her mouth, suffocating her."
"Had she angered the goose in some way?" I asked naively.
"NO!" He slammed his head down on a side table. "He did it for his own sick pleasure!"
Despite my faux pas regarding his daughter's death, Mr. Goose signed off my research plan and provided me with $10 Billion dollars, some binoculars, an assistant and a picture of the Canadian goose that had murdered his daughter.
"Get that beady eyed fuck and make him pay for what he's done." Said Mr. Goose as we parted, somewhat confusedly I might add, as I was now unsure as to whether I was a hired goose killer or to perform my research.
"Pass the binocs." I said to my assistant as we sat on the park bench, looking out across the desolate lake at all the Canada geese.
"Sure." She replied. "Do you think you've seen something?"
"Yes. Look. Up there is the sky. The geese are flying in some coordinated formation."
I looked through the vision goggles and could clearly make out a pyramid shape of geese falling through the sky.
"It's like a 'V'." Said Sheila (that's my assistant's name). "'V' for victory maybe? How do they know how to spell?"
"No, Sheila, think about it." I pointed to the shape in the sky. "It's an arrow. They are telling us where to look!"
For three years we followed the arrows formed by the Canada geese, but they never lead anywhere. Sometimes we followed them thousands of miles only to find more sordid colonies of geese eating, building nests, mating etc. There was little to no reward in chasing the geese in the way that we did as they would often fly away again as we approached. In the fourth year however we noticed a change in their pattern of behaviour.
"What's that shape they're falling in?" Said Sheila, as I was opening another loaf of bread for the ducks.
I looked up. She was right. The directional arrow had gone, replaced instead with some corkscrew like design.
"It's massive." Said Sheila.
I didn't reply. I knew what the geese were trying to say. It was a veiled reference to my burgeoning alcoholism. Well, I'd like to see them spend four years researching Canadian geese with a $10 Billion dollar budget and not reach for the bottle now and then just for a blessed few hours of release! Just a peaceful nights rest without the constant honk-honk wringing in my ears! Is that too much to ask?!?!? Those geese... Those Canadian geese.
About a week after the now familiar corkscrew pattern the geese changed formation again.
"Sheila look!"
We both sat in awe as the geese fell by in what was quite explicitly the shape of human male genitalia. A cock and balls formation.
"It's a lot smaller than the corkscrew." Said Sheila, almost disappointed with their display.
"It's just a crude diagram, Sheila. Completely meaningless."
The group circled a few times showing the pattern. This continued for several years alternating between the corkscrew and the tiny penis. Corkscrew. Tiny penis. I continued to drink. Corkscrew. Tiny penis. I ploughed the corkscrew into my next bottle of wine. I was too drunk. The screw went in wrong and the cork split. I threw the bottle on the ground. SMASH! Blood red wine, seeped down the the lake, intoxicating the ducks.
"Sheila. Get my gun."
I fired. I fired continuously, aiming for the geese at the head of the penis and corkscrew. It's not easy to hunt geese when you're incredibly drunnk. I shot Sheila by accident, just in the foot, she could still drive and got to hospital ok by herself. She's fine. It wasn't until the sun was sinking that I got a hit. Just a graze on the head goose. I saw it begin barrel rolling down to the ground and immediately began tracking its GPS location. Oh yeah, we put a load of GPS trackers on the geese.
I approached the fallen goose. It lay in the centre of a large nest surrounded by its brethren. The quacking and honking was deafening. I pumped my shotgun and walked through the forest of their stupid long necks towards the king, ready to enact my revenge for their ridicule and of course for Mr. Goose and the death of his daughter.
"It's time to pay, you stupid goose." I said.
The goose had been hit bad, in the chest. It was clear he didn't have long left, and yet, he started to laugh.
"You fool." Said the goose. "You really were the finest fiddle to play."
Confused, I lowered my gun. "What are you on about?"
"Would this help at all?"
The goose was handed a waistcoat by one of its feathery friends. Once fully clothed, the penny dropped.
"Mr. Goose!"
"That's right. It was me all those long years ago who you met. I have been financing your research... or should I say drinking habit?"
"You dirty duck!"
"Wait! There's more. It was I who killed my daughter."
"What!? But you're a man goose! How could you have laid an egg??"
"I didn't. It was shit."
I felt vomit rise in my mouth, I felt like I was going to faint. The collective noun of geese around me began to flap their wings and quack and honk.
"And one more thing. It wasn't my daughter... it was your daughter!"
That's right. I had had a daughter who had been murdered by a goose.
"Why!? Why have you done this?" I asked.
"For my own sick pleasure." He replied.
"NOOOOOOOOOOOO!"
I collapsed, finally beaten. And I think if you have read my story you understand why I have not published my research.
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Category:Originally on r/shittynosleep