I slammed the door shut, wondering what the heck is going on and why a talking goose named FRANK of all names is standing on my porch. Maybe I got too into the wine tonight?

“Who is it?” My wife calls from the kitchen.

“Just a goose, his name is frank and he wants to come in. He talks,” I call back seriously.

She laughs. “Shawn, there is no such thing as a talking goose named frank. You’re being silly.”

“Come and see,” I reply as the goose taps his beak politely on the window asking to be let in and waves, smiling.

Sighing, Laura walked over, chuckling. She opened the door and gasped.

There the goose stood. “Hello!”

“Are you from the circus??” She asked.

“What is that? No, I’m from another dimension. Me and my friend look to spend the night.”

“Um”

“Enough of this, I must come in.”

He enters and within minutes has drunken half the wine, been fascinated by my little thing called flowing water from the tap, introduced his friend named Mother Goose and beaten us all at cards.

He vanished into the night soon after and we never saw him again. The next morning, our friends asked if we’d had a party without them.