A/N: Hello! Wait a moment… Fireleaf, get up here!

*Fireleaf, my trusty Warriors cat OC, appears*

Fireleaf: What's up?

Me: WE GOT A REVEIW! *does a victory dance* I thought it would take weeks, this story is so out of the way! Thank you Guest, for cheering me up, and reminding me that this is the first Honk story! Congrats on being Penny!

Fireleaf: *suddenly montone voice* Moonbeam141 does not own Honk, Greylag, or Dot. She does, however, own the military officer and his wife, the crow that comes up in this chapter, and Leslie the Extremely Boring White Chicken!

Leslie: HEY!

Dot: That cat is right, admit it.

Leslie: *starts singing her own version to the tune of "Look At Him," song from Honk*

Dot: *stats singing comebacks*

Me: Oh no… Run! Save yourself! Read the story! If by any chance your brain hasn't exploded from this author's note, you can ask in a review if you want to read the parodied version of the song I made up put on here...

The Greece Islands which Dot mentions are actually some Mediterranean islands. Since Greece is located on the Mediterranean sea, and since Dot, Greylag and Co. are from 1900's central Europe, or at least from central U.K. in this story, I thought it would make sense. I mean no offense to any actual Greece or U.K persons who have a better sense of their countries than I do.

so much depends

upon

a red wheel

barrow

glazed with rain

water

beside the white

chickens.
-Williams Carrlos Williams, The Red Wheelbarrow

As for this poem… see below.

Chapter 2

It had been still chilly, almost spring when Greylag had arrived, and now it was hotter, not yet summer, but close. Suddenly, all the young animals that had been born in springtime decided that now, they had to learn how to live. The retired officer and his wife often saw half grown birds flitting here and there in tree branches over the weeks, and one time, a young deer, which stared, amazed, at the two humans, before running away.

As for the two geese, Dot was teaching Greylag all about military maneuvers. Dot's parents, who had been the mascots of the former officer's group, had picked up almost all of what military people did. They had taught it to Dot, who was now teaching it to Greylag. Greylag, who at first had homesickness, now wanted to learn everything he could about military things. He didn't think it was strange at all.

"After you feel like you've eaten enough, and you preened yourself, there isn't much more to do," he told Dot one day, "So I want to thank you for doing this."

Dot fixed one of her feathers with her beak and said that it wasn't any trouble at all, and she enjoyed it too.

"My father taught me a little about marching," he added. "I think he learned it from staying by a military academy for a while during a migration. He watched lots of young boys practice–drills, right? He taught me a little marching, a couple of miltary words he had picked up from watching. I liked it, and I'm glad that I'm learning about them again. Could we go over the salute?" he added with a touch of unusal shyness. "I want to get it down perfectly."

"Well, I don't know about perfect," Dot honked. "But I can get you saluting pretty well. Alright, stand exactly in front of me."

Greylag shuffled his webs until he was directly in front of Dot, who suddenly wished…that he was closer? It was a very strange feeling. Almost like happiness.

"Now what?" Greylag asked.

"Which wing do you whack enemies with?" Dot countered.

Greylag blinked, ruining Dot's fantasy of a very intense eye staring contest. "The right one," he answered.

"Alright," Dot honked slowly. "Hold it stiff but steady, like you do when you find your self flying into a strong wind, and you have to hold your feathers stiff, so they don't flutter and break you off course."

Greylag blinked, and his eyes filled with amusement. "Remind me why any bird would fly into a strong wind?"

Dot thought about this for a moment. "I suppose if that was the only way to get back home. Have you ever done it?"

"Once," Greylag mumbled. "While migrating for the first time, to the Islands."

"Oh, right," Dot honked. "The Greece Islands. How did it happen?"

"We were staying at a lake for the night," Greylag recalled. "And I had seen some really good grass nearby when we were landing. So I snuck away."

"You snuck away," Dot repeated in disbelief.

"Yes…" Greylag mumbled, sounding a little embaressed. "The grass just looked very good, and it's not a crime to eat during the night, is it? So I flew out to where I had seen the grass."

"Was it good?" Dot wondered out loud. "The grass, I mean."

"Yes, it was good grass," Greylag honked. "And I did get to eat some, but on the way back, the wind changed and started to blow against me."

"What did you do?" Dot asked.

"I tried to get out of the main blast, and found myself skidding on the lake. I almost plowed through a couple of ducks."

"Through ducks," Dot echoed.

Greylag nodded, a hint of a smile on his beak. "Yes, almost through some ducks. So Dot," he continued. "Now that my wing is nice and stiff, how about some saluting?"

Dot was different from the other geese he had met, Greylag thought. Even though she was a little younger than him, there was something about Dot – her slight sternness while teaching him military operations, yet her jokes while they waddled about the goose coop – that compelled Greylag to start to warm up to the other goose.

Speaking of the goose coop, it was four feet high, and five feet wide. The former military officer, along with some friends, had indeed built it out of scrap wood and the crate Greylag had come in. It was filled with hay, some dried grasses and feathers for the geese to make nests out of. The feathers were there because it was slowly becoming summer, and summer was goose molting season.

The chickens often asked the two geese why they were doing this "military project." Leslie, a large white chicken who laid eggs galore now that it was warm, was the one who asked the most.

"Why," she would squawk in her disapproving voice. "Would you act so military? We're not humans. We're birds, and birds act like birds." If Leslie had been able to sniff disapprovingly, she would have.

"We are birds," Dot would tell her after a moment or two of thought. "But we don't have to act like birds all the time. If we all just ate, and preened ourselves, life would be boring. I've had a taste of something else besides all that, and–"

"Now you're acting all military," Leslie interrupted. "It's because of Greylag, isn't it? A gander comes, and you're off trying to get him to pay attention to you! Honestly, Dot," she clucked before the goose, who was silently fuming, could say no, it wasn't because of Greylag, "I know you are geese, and from what I can tell, you are off on a wild goose chase. Military things, honestly…" Leslie's last sentence was muttered as she waddled off.

Dot tried to ignore the chickens, and the little nagging voice that had appeared in her head, which sounded suspiciously like Leslie. Leslie was apparently trying to spread rumors in the henhouse of what happened to geese who didn't act like birds, some of which included DNA testing and/or rabies shots. As far as Dot could tell, none of the chickens were listening.

One day, about a week after the conversation with Leslie, Dot was telling Greylag about what had happened when the rooster had suddenly seen a herd of deer crash across the road leading to the farm.

"He just sort of flapped his wings, and then let out the loudest cockle-doodle-do I have ever heard," Dot told him, laughing a little. "He seemed terrified by the deer, and they didn't seem to like him either."

Greylag chortled, a goose-like form of laughter. "Did his eyes go all big?"

"Yes, they did."

"Dot," Greylag stopped chortling. "Could I ask you something?"

"Sure," Dot honked, part of her preparing to do another training exercise, yet her heart started to pound a little faster than usual. Curse that Leslie, part of her thought. She's making me think that he likes me more than a friend.

Greylag paused, partly to savor the moment, and partly to make sure his little speech was in order. "As co-captain of this squadron, a position you appointed me to recently, I would like you to be my second in command."

Dot's beak dropped open, secretly pleased at his choice of words, yet still amazed all together. "Your mate?"

"Yes," Greylag honked, sounding hopeful. "That's what I mean."

"Then I would be glad to accept," Dot told him. "Thank you, Greylag."

The military officer and his wife, along with seeing sparrows and deer that summer, also saw their two geese honk at each other, rub their necks together, then fly on top of the goose coop to make plans for the future.

One day, Dot felt almost ready to lay an egg. She wanted to get immediately to the marshy place – where there were delicious water plants and sturdy reeds to build nests – but she had to satisfy herself with honking at the gate, with Greylag, until the officer's wife opened the entrance in the fence for them. The two geese were now free to explore the farm.

Dot and Greylag headed to the little marsh, skirting the cornfield and going around a large rock to get to it. As they neared the boggy marshland, Greylag offered to scout ahead for anything, nesting places or other animals. Dot let him, having no doubt that she would know a good nesting place when she saw one.

A loud honk from Greylag a few minutes later quickened her pace, for Dot had been nibbling at some grasses here, a clump of pondweed there. Suddenly feeling anxious to see what her mate had found, Dot wove though some reeds, and saw a small pond, with some rocks sticking up here and there, and a little island about the size of a large table. It looked like a good place for raising goslings, Dot had to admit, and it was.

"This looks good," Dot honked. "All we need is a nest."

"A nest?" Greylag's honk rose a little with excitement. "So we are going to have goslings?"

"Yes, we are," Dot told him happily. "I'm going to try to find a good spot to build the nest."

"I'll go get some reeds," Greylag offered. "There's no hay here, and reeds are as good as anything."

Greylag waddled off to a nearby clump of reeds, while Dot examined the island. There was a small bush on it that she hadn't noticed before. It was just big enough for her to get in, and there was enough room for Dot to walk a few steps from front to back. Light filtered in though the leaves, and it seemed like it would give nice shelter until the goslings were old enough to sleep outside. Dot, finished with her inspection, turned around to go outside, when–

"Caw! Caw! Caw!"

What in the world?

Dot darted out of the bush, as fast as she could, to see Greylag staring up at the sky, reeds still in his beak. She followed his gaze, and saw a crow, cawing loudly. The crow dived straight at the two geese, then went into a U-turn and settled on top of a boulder nearby.

"What was that, private?" Greylag honked angrily, dropping his reeds, before Dot could chime in her two cents as well. "Were you trying to kill us?"

"I didn't mean to, sir, uh, didn't want to–" the crow stammered, suddenly realizing that the two geese were each twice bigger than him, and gave a sloppy salute.

"Didn't want to do what?" Dot honked at him. "On whose orders did you attack?"

"Uh – orders?" The crow blinked.

Greylag sighed though clenched beak. "Who told you to dive at us like that?"

The crow muttered something that sounded like "…he told me not to…"

"Who told you not to do what?" Dot asked him, wondering if the crow had said he or she.

"Dive down at geese and ducks," the crow clarified. "My mother." The black-feathered bird glanced at a far-away oak, as if wondering if his mother was going to come out that very moment. Greylag thought, for a moment, something moved among the branches, shaking them. But it didn't look like a crow. It looked like…

"I'm sorry," the crow cawed, unconsciously interrupting Greylag's train of thought. "Do you – do you want me to do anything for you?" He blinked, nervously, at the two geese.

"No," Greylag told him. "Just leave. We don't need nosy crows poking about our place!"

The crow flew off to the oak, cawing loudly.

"Do you think he was telling the truth?" Greylag asked Dot as they snapped off reeds with their beaks.

"Who knows?" Dot wondered, thoughtfully breaking a reed off. "Crows aren't known for being completely honest."

By sunset, the nest was finished, built out of reeds that Dot had woven into a bowl shape around herself, mixed with dried grasses and a few twigs. It was large enough for her, and some goslings. How many there would be, Dot wasn't sure, but she thought perhaps six.

The retired officer knew about the nest. He had heard Greylag and Dot honking at the crow from the chicken coop, and by the time he got there, the nest was half-done.

"Hello, Dot and Greylag," the old man said. "Going to have goslings, aren't you?"

Dot honked loudly in answer. The former officer chuckled.

"Promise me something, alright?" He leaned down a bit to see the geese better. "I know geese like to migrate, but when the goslings are old enough, could you bring them back to the farm for a few days, for a visit?"

Dot and Greylag glanced at each other. The former military officer waited as the two geese exchanged little honks and gurgles.

Finally, Dot pumped her head up and down, and let out a loud honk. She agreed.

The old man smiled to himself as he walked back home.