Greg woke with boundless excitement, his energy only slightly sapped by the remaining headache. All he could dream about was what his new farm would become, the infinite grain he would have to eat. Geese would travel from far and wide to meet the presumably first settler of their kind. He would smile if he could.
Today would be the start of his legend.
‘If we’re doing this, we at least need a plan.’ A familiar voice interjected with an all too low level of enthusiasm
“Plan? How tough could farming be?”
‘Probably very.’
Greg paused at the blunt reply. “But how tough could farming be for a super insightful, intelligent goose person?”
‘Absurdly’
Greg hesitated, then nodded in agreement. Opposable thumbs would definitely be a boon here, but that was no reason to panic! The way Greg saw it, all he needed to do was one tiny task, then do another. Each task on its own would be easy, and eventually, they would equal a grain silo!
Step one! Make a mental list of tasks.
“Hmmm, but how do I know if what I’m doing is right?” Greg pondered. He'd need to understand farming to make an optimal list, but since he didn’t…
“Maybe a nonoptimal list will be fine?”
Now to farm, Greg needed to plant seeds. To plant seeds, he needed to till the soil. To-
‘Plant what?’ The voice spoke in exasperation.
“Seeds.” Greg reiterated.
‘What seeds?’
“Plant seeds! Plants have these little things they sprout from. I know it sounds silly, but it's true!” The bird nodded patronizingly. “You see, the sun gives them nutrients when you put them in the dirt, and they expand… from heat…?” Greg ran into a problem. He knew plants needed both sunlight and water, but how was he supposed to put the seeds in the ground while also ensuring they receive enough light?
“Hey, voice person, should we leave the seeds on top or put them under the dirt?”
‘WE DON’T HAVE ANY FUCKING SEEDS!’
-------
After many arguments and much deliberation, Greg decided the first and most important step was to acquire land. Seeing as how there wouldn’t even be any dirt to improperly plant seeds on/in without such.
Normally, a person acquiring land had to go through a whooooole process. It involved money, real estate, things like acres, and stuff. Very complicated and very boring.
Luckily, Greg was a goose. While he didn’t know particularly much about the ins and outs of his culture, he knew how the birds generally acted. This he could use as information.
Goose government structure was akin to horse lords of the nomadic steppes. They travel from place to place demanding tribute from settled peoples and generally don’t build their own things. While Greg didn’t necessarily agree with that way of life, he was starting a farm after all, it did provide him benefits.
For geese, ownership was a transient thing, thus, goose property law reflected that.
This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.
“This is mine now! WHAT YOU GONNA DO ABOUT IT!” Greg announced the legal declaration to the air, officially making the pond and its surroundings his.
While some might insist on having a lawyer around for any legal proceedings, Geese law largely depended on charging all others until they agreed with you. Greg practically passed every bar exam when he went over twenty-five pounds!
Land secured, Greg, a forward thinking goose, decided to procure seeds entirely on his own initiative. If anyone asked, he would certainly insist that he was not following the voices in his head's directions. In fact, what voices? Greg never hears voices!
‘Certainly seems that way most of the time.’
“Don’t be rude! I’m practicing my denial! You don’t want us to get stuck in a mental asylum, do you?”
‘... I'd say I’m already in one.’
Instead of acknowledging the concerningly true statement, Greg opted to work on the seed problem.
Most farmers, to his knowledge, got their seeds from a vendor. Being both creative and impoverished, he decided to borrow some that he definitely intended to give back.
Despite the voice being silent about this, Greg felt judged.
Going to his kindly neighbour’s field, he pulled a few wheat strands at the midway point of their stocks. When he turned back to his pond plants in tow, Greg realized his first mistake.
‘Acquire land’, a straightforward task had turned to ‘Where the fuck do I plant this shit’, a much harder objective. It turned out what a regular horselord goose preferred in a home was quite different from what Greg needed for a farm.
Overgrown bushes and trees covered all the soil around his peaceful pond. The idyllic glade he loved so much was taking up all the damn planting space. Let alone that most of the ground was shaded from the sun.
He’d have to clear at least some of it out and...
The distraught bird’s head tilted ponderously to his wings. The lack of hands and thumbs. But just before he succumbed to the overwhelming feeling of inferiority to the task, Greg remembered something. His past! His heritage!
He wasn’t just any goose, nor any soldier. No, he was something beyond both.
He was a goose soldier! One who was so tough he apparently regrew his own wing! What did he have to fear from some bushes or grass? The overgrowth should retreat with just the mention of his wrath!
Filled with confidence, Greg resurveyed the surroundings. Even though he could defeat any bush, it would be best to find an open area. Two options stood out. The first was a small mossy clearing surrounding a large tree. It’d certainly be easy to clear out. He could already see some dirt! But the growth potential would be much lower in the partial shade.
No, half measures wouldn’t do. The bird stood before a dry yellowy grass that almost came up to his head. A break in the bushes which opened to the next pasture.
It was perfect.
He waddled over and gripped a singular strand of the tall grass in his mouth and pulled. It snapped in the middle. Greg redoubled his efforts and grasped it near the base. Still, the grass roots refused to come up with the plant.
The goose took a step back and analyzed the situation.
He was having trouble with a single strand. Logically, each would be just as difficult. Doing some quick calculations, Greg realized it would take at least lots of time to finish clearing it all.
If he picked out each piece individually like an idiot.
But he wasn’t an idiot. In fact, Greg was probably in the top half of intelligence among goosekind. In addition, geese were undoubtedly in the upper echelon of species intelligence within the animal kingdom! Two top halves meant that he was firmly entrenched as a pinnacle of creature mental capacity. An idiot would need time.
But Greg had physics.
The plan was simple, charge the grass at full speed with his wings spread and let their innate sharpness and his own courage carry the day.
As his steps sped up, Greg let out a mighty honk. A sound of sadness and triumph! Pain and rebirth! A culmination of his journey, a cry declaring a truth, no, a certainty! The hateful grass would rue the day it decided to pollute this retired warrior’s farm!
—--
The tree, delivering shade, was clearly the greatest spot to grow crops. Greg would not overheat on a long day of work, and too much sun is probably bad for the grain.
That he realized this while picking burrs out of his feathers didn’t mean anything. The timing was purely coincidental. Saying otherwise would just be slander!
He didn’t lose a fight with a patch of grass.
Not at all.