Big Salmon Lake And through the night, so it seems I'm not breathing

Just a moment later, calamity struck. The dark female darted from her hiding place, sending the gees honking and flailing as they waddled toward the water with a few stray ones opting to run directly away from her instead, hoping she might go for the others as they reached the shallows. In the mêlée the wounded goose revealed itself and Bronco locked his gaze onto it, bursting forth from his own hiding spot as it waddled toward him. 

The injured goose, as well as a few others that had chosen to run in his direction, beat their wings and nearly fell over each other trying to get to the water. Bronco was among them in an instant, just as they reached the muddy banks. He slipped, and reached out to grab the closest goose by its already bent wing, snapping it back toward him with a jerk of his head so that it couldn't hit the water and begin to take off, as some of the others had. With a horrific sound, it craned its long neck around and began to jab at Bronco's ribs- ribs which had only recently healed- as he pulled it back up the bank and onto the grass. He growled and clenched his teeth as the goose continued to peck at him with unexpected force, and buffetted his head with its other wing. It was much stronger than he'd imagined. 

"Shtupid!" He snarled as he wrestled the squirming, honking goose to the ground. It smacked him around the face several times with its other wing before he was able to pin it down with one of his large front feet, and then released the broken wing once he'd managed to pin it down with the other foot. Now held down, lying on its back and hissing like a furious cat, the goose continued to try and snake its head and jab at his chest as he avoided its strikes, snapping at the air as he tried to get a hold of its neck. With each snap of his jaws, he cursed. "Gahd. Damn. Stupid! I. Hate. GAH." Frustrated, he finally caught hold of the goose's neck, and it let out one final SQUONK before it went silent. He could feel bruises rising like welts beneath his fur from all the places it had jabbed him with its beak, so he concluded, when he let go of it: "I hate geese. I thought Canadians were s'posed to be friendly. Sheesh." He stepped off the goose, and realized then that he'd committed to his part of the hunt without lending his companion a hand- and didn't see her until he scanned his gaze toward the water, where the surface still rippled from her dive. The water frothed, and he wasn't sure if she'd been successful or not. Knowing there was little else he could do, he pattered a bit closer, and called out.  "Bit cold fer swimmin', innit?"