(An exclusive bonus adventure for readers of Father Goose: A Memoir — My Life with Mother)

🌙 It began, as these things often do, on a moonlit night at the pond…

Father Goose awoke to the sound of rustling reeds. He opened one eye, then the other, and saw — or thought he saw — a shadow flit across the water’s edge. A shadow that glimmered, just slightly, as if something shiny dangled from its beak.

“My quill!” Father Goose gasped, leaping from his resting spot beneath the Great Willow. The moonlight caught the bare spot behind his wing where his prized writing feather had always rested, loyal and true. Gone!

🦝 The Suspect List

Within moments, the usual suspects gathered at the pond.
Grimble fluffed his feathers, eager for action.
Gloria arched a brow. “Honestly, Father, who’d want your quill?”
The Frog Chorus ribbited in unison: “Not us! We only steal hearts, not feathers.”
Bartholomew Cawthorn appeared, notepad in claw, already composing tomorrow’s headline: Bard of Nurseryland Bested by Burglar!

Father Goose took a deep breath. “We need clues,” he announced. “We need… deduction.”

🕵️ The Investigation Begins

They found prints near the water — small, nimble, masked in mischief.
“A raccoon!” gasped the frogs.
“A magpie,” countered Gloria, spotting a glint on the far bank.
“Both,” muttered Father Goose. “A conspiracy most foul.”

Father Goose honked the Honk of Assembly, a rarely used call that summoned all creatures of the pond, great and small. He paced dramatically atop the Speaker’s Stone. “My friends,” he began, “we stand at the edge of chaos. Without my quill, the poems will stop, the verses will fade, and the festivals will —”

“Get on with it!” croaked a frog.

🪶 The Culprit Revealed

At last, young gosling Pip waddled forward, head bowed. In his beak: the missing quill.
“I just wanted to try writing,” Pip said softly. “Like you, Father Goose.”

The crowd fell silent. Father Goose stared at Pip, his heart a jumble of pride, relief, and regret.

“Well,” Father Goose said at last, lowering his voice so only Pip could hear, “next time, just ask. I have a spare.”

🌟 The Moral of the Tale

And so, under the watchful eye of the moon, Father Goose retrieved his quill, placed it behind his wing once more, and sat beside Pip to help him write his first rhyme:

“A quill may be stolen, but words must be shared;
A rhyme is most grand when two hearts have cared.”

🪶 End Note

Thank you for being part of Father Goose’s world. May your own quill — or keyboard — bring joy to others.