Duck

I was a male mallard and my actual human mother wanted me dead. I fled through the garden because luckily, most of our neighbours had ponds and pools, and some of the shrubbery concealed parts of their surfaces from view from my mother's garden. So I flew and flapped around frantically, trying to pick a good invisible spot in one of the roughly half dozen ponds.

I found one but ended up back in my family's garden after a short while, because they had two bright yellow ducklings for some reason. My little brother (like my mother not a duck) happened to be around while I, now also human, emptied a little cotton sack of its toy contents to put the ducklings in and carry them off. He helped me and carried it with me. He clutched it close to his chest and I held it out by one handle at extended arm's length. I suggested to him to do it like me so he could fly better, but he insisted to hold the duckling bag close like that. We were flapping our arms and hovering awkwardly, and that's where it ended.