What happens in the video
A man stands on the grass near a park bandstand. A blue garment lies in front of him. It shifts across the lawn as a goose approaches. “Where’s that going? There’s no wind down here.”
The goose pecks at the fabric, catches an edge in its beak and lifts it. When the man bends down, he discovers a little red-uniformed toy figure beneath it. “Our little drum major went off parade,” he says. He sets the figure upright on the grass. The goose turns and walks away.
Continuation:
The man picked up the toy and found a winding key in its back. One turn was enough. The drum major marched six determined steps, veered left and walked straight into his shoe.
“Well,” he said. “That explains how you got under my jacket.”
From the bandstand came a little girl’s voice. “Has anybody seen the front of my parade?”
On the lowest step stood eleven more toy musicians. Behind them, the girl had drawn a chalk route around a puddle and past a dandelion she’d designated as the mayor. She was trying to stage a photograph for her grandfather, who had given her the figures and was at home recovering from an operation.
The man held up the drum major. “Your search party found him.” He pointed toward the goose, which had moved on to more pressing business near the pond.
The girl wound the toy and set him at the head of the line. Once again he swung left. This time he knocked down a trumpet player and finished facedown in the dandelion.
“That’s why Grandad said to put him on the outside,” she murmured.
She had thought he meant the outside of the box. Now she understood. She moved the drum major to the right-hand edge of the group. His crooked march carried him in a slow curve across the front of the band. From where her phone rested against the step, it looked exactly as though he were inspecting the musicians.
She started recording. The little drum major turned. The line held. And just before the video ended, the goose wandered back into the frame, enormous behind the tiny band, and gave one loud honk.
The girl’s face fell. “I nearly had it perfect.”
“Play it back,” the man suggested.
On the recording, the drum major appeared to turn and give the goose its cue. The honk landed right where the last note ought to have been. She sent that version to her grandfather.
His reply came while she was packing the toys away. He’d watched it four times. He wanted to know where she’d found a tuba player with feathers and whether the bird was free for another performance on Sunday.
She looked toward the pond. “I don’t know how to book a goose.”
The man shook the grass from his blue jacket. “I’ll bring this. Apparently he’s willing to work for the wardrobe department too.”
On Sunday, her grandfather watched from a bench with a blanket over his knees. The goose ignored the whole performance. The little drum major made his crooked turn, and Grandad supplied the honk himself.
