I was waiting at the school gates when my son ran up, out of breath, and shoved his zipped backpack into my arms. “Hold this, don’t look inside,” he begged before darting back into the building to grab his jacket. I chuckled, figuring he had caught another frog by the creek. But a moment later, the principal walked up to me, pointed at the bag, and said, “I’m going to need you to slowly hand that over.”
My smile faltered. Principal Harrison was not a man given to dramatics. His face was pale, his eyes fixed on the slightly bulging nylon sack resting against my chest.
“Excuse me?” I asked, gripping the straps a little tighter. “Mr. Harrison, it’s just Leo’s bag. He probably just caught another toad in the drainage ditch…”
“Mrs. Miller,” Harrison interrupted, his voice dropping to an urgent, hushed whisper. “That is no toad. Please. Just hand it to me before it gets agitated.”
As if on cue, the backpack violently jerked in my arms. A low, guttural hiss emanated from within the dark blue fabric, vibrating right against my ribcage. I shrieked and dropped the bag onto the pavement.
Instead of landing with a soft thud, the bag hit the ground and immediately began to thrash. It rolled to the left, flipped over, and let out a sound that could only be described as a demonic honk.
“Stand back!” Principal Harrison yelled, taking a very distinct step behind me. He pulled a walkie-talkie from his belt. “Code Red at the South Gates. The package is secure, but it is extremely hostile.”
Before the security guard could even jog over, the school doors flew open and Leo came sprinting out, his jacket half-on. “Wait! Dad, don’t let him open it! He’s a biter!”
“Leo, what on earth is in there?!” I demanded, watching in horror as the zipper began to slowly tear open from the inside out.
“I was just trying to prevent a war!” Leo panted, throwing himself between the thrashing backpack and the terrified principal. “The eighth graders from Crestview Middle threw him over the fence during lunch! I was going to bike him back to their campus!”
With a final, catastrophic rip, the zipper gave way.
Out burst a flurry of white feathers, furious wings, and a bright orange beak snapping at the air. It was a full-grown, aggressively territorial goose. But not just any goose—it was wearing a tiny, custom-knit sweater in Crestview’s rival colors, bearing the name “Sir Honks-a-Lot”. It was the rival school’s beloved, terrifying live mascot.
The goose locked eyes with Principal Harrison. Harrison froze.
“Leo,” the principal squeaked, completely abandoning his authoritative tone as the goose flared its wings and hissed. “Why did you bring the Crestview menace into my building?”
“I couldn’t leave him in the batting cages! He was eating the baseballs!” Leo argued, instinctively shielding his face. “I was conducting a rescue mission!”
Sir Honks-a-Lot let out a triumphant shriek, snapped up a stray french fry from the pavement, and immediately charged at the security guard who had just arrived on the scene.
I looked at my son, looked at the furious bird chasing a grown man across the parking lot, and sighed, rubbing my temples. “Next time, Leo,” I muttered, “please just stick to the frogs.”
