Some days I sit out on my porch, a beer in hand, and watch the sun set.

I have never done it with company like this before though.

—

I came out, tired and ready to watch the sun melt over the horizon, but someone was already there.

“Hey mate.” I say, staring at the goose with the beer can.

“Oh hiya there, me name’s Frank.”

I swore for a while in finding he could speak, but then I sat. We watched the sun go down, beers in hand, no people around.

“Need to crash?” I ask, and he looks confused.

“I’m a goose mate. I sleep out here, under the sky, under the stars, not in a stuffy old house.”

“Alright alright, just an offer, I didn’t really know mate.”

And that’s how I met my mate Frank, the talking goose who likes beer a little too much and sleeps under the stars at night.