The loud thump
from a heavy dead weight
hitting the floor in the kitchen
shook me from a deep sleep
in my bedroom
in the basement
beneath the kitchen.

We lived far from town
so an intruder was unlikely
but so was timely help
if I could even get
to the phone
in the kitchen.

I was on edge since my father left
and I often came home
to find
my mother in tears
at the kitchen table.
Had she done something rash?

In late November
the previous year
I had gone canoeing with my father.
Snow had already fallen
but the lake had not frozen yet.
A cold wind
had raised the waves.

On the lake
a solitary goose
with a broken wing
swam searching for food.
“He can’t fly south,”
my father said.
“He’ll freeze and starve to death, here”.

And so, the wild goose chase began
as we paddled after him.
When we got close
he’d dive under the water.
A scared goose with a broken wing
is still a strong swimmer.

Eventually, my father caught him
killed him
dressed him
and put him in the freezer.

As I was lying in bed,
my heart still thumping
listening closely
for other sounds
I heard more thumps
smaller,
like something
being knocked across the floor.

My curiosity grew larger than my fear
and gathering up all my courage
I headed upstairs.
There, I found our dog,
a large white Samoyed,
who had knocked the frozen goose
off the bread table
where it had been left to thaw
for tomorrow’s dinner.
To him, it was a giant
tasty
hockey puck.

I put the goose
in a safer place
out of the reach
of the dog
and went
back
to bed.