Horse Feathers by Bonnie Bryant

should wash those.” She quickly replaced the sweatshirt. “
After
I find the two escapees.”
    Stevie got down on her hands and knees and began looking in the most obvious gosling hiding places—underneath things. Because the goslings were still so small, she doubted that they’d hopped up onto anything. Therefore her search was limited to the floor, which, she thought after taking in the mess on the carpet, was bad enough. It occurred to her that now that she had six (soon to be eight) new little charges, it might make herlife easier if she cleaned up her room, especially since they seemed to enjoy playing hide-and-seek.
    Stevie crawled along the side of her bed and was just about to peek underneath it when her hand landed in something warm and slippery. She froze, her face crunching up into a disgusted frown.
    “Eeeww …” Stevie slowly pulled her hand away from the carpet, knowing what she’d find even before she looked. Sure enough, the palm of her hand was stained with the very white, very distinct evidence left behind by either Number One or Number Three. “I see we need to discuss litter training,” she announced loudly.
    Stevie quickly wiped her hand off on a tissue, cleaned up the remaining mess on the floor, then got back on her knees to continue her search, this time being much more careful about where she put her hands. The droppings did, however, give her a better indication of which direction the little goslings had gone.
    Stevie poked her head under the bed. “Ah-hah!” she squealed triumphantly, disturbing Number One, who was comfortably snoozing next to a dust bunny. He was obviously in need of a nap following the afternoon’s exciting game of Escape-and-Poop. Stevie gently disengaged the gosling from the dust bunnybefore returning Number One to the brooder with its siblings.
    “Okay, Number Three, where are you hiding?” asked Stevie. She noticed that her closet door was open. “Uh-oh. I hope you’re not in there.”
    Stevie got down on her hands and knees in front of the closet, cringing at the sight that met her eyes. Lisa liked to refer to it as “Stevie’s natural disaster area.” The inside of the closet resembled more of a going-out-of-business warehouse sale than any kind of repository for clean clothing. The first pile, and the most obvious one for a nap from an escaped gosling’s point of view, was littered with the telltale white droppings—obviously calling cards left behind by Number Three. Unfortunately, the droppings didn’t indicate where he’d gone after encountering the disaster in the closet.
    “He probably ran for his life,” chuckled Stevie.
    She glanced around and spied the upholstered chair in the corner of her room. The tip of a blue sneaker poked out from behind it. Curious, Stevie crawled across the carpet to the chair, checking underneath her desk as she passed, ensuring that she didn’t miss any possible hiding places. She reached the chair and looked behind it. Sure enough, there was Number Three, nestled in the blue sneaker, taking a power snooze.
    “Okay, mister, the gig’s up,” said Stevie, adopting the stern, parental voice that her mom and dad often used when she misbehaved. “Back in the box for you.”
    Number Three grumbled a bit when she lifted him out of the sneaker, but he didn’t bother to open his eyes. In fact, the moment he was in Stevie’s hand, he started making himself more comfortable, shifting his feathers around him.
    Stevie placed the little gosling in the brooder and checked the others. She seemed to have their undivided attention. All six of them were quietly staring up at her, their eyes filled with adoration.
    For a moment Stevie felt herself go weak in the knees, then decided that as their only parental figure she couldn’t let something like adorable faces and large dark eyes keep her from making her point.
    Stevie sat down cross-legged beside the brooder. “Okay, here’s the deal,” she said, doing her best to