The Rapist Goose.
Well as I mentioned it and this seems like the appropriate QOTW... Here Goes. This is all absolutely true and can be verified by at least one peron on B3TA by the by. I can't fucking stand Geese to this day.

Well as I said in my last post, I grew up on a small farm in a quaint part of Devon. We had quite a big long Devon farm house, stone built long in shape and a (well at least to me at that age) vast stone flagged kitchen. In the kitchen we had a back door that led out onto one of our smaller fields in which we kept about a dozen geese a few sheep and a gander to keep the foxes at bay.

Alot of you may never of really got to know a gander before (when i say gander I don't mean an oggle from a passing tramp) This is a male Goose, an absolute monster despite its white feathers and giant duckish proportions, and believe me they keep the Foxes a fucking long way away.

Our Gander was something apart, he was an evil poultry satan, with unflickering blue eyes and a hiss that even Chuck Norris would shy from. Any way, one morning I was padding around the kitchen whilst mother was doing the dishes and she asked me to fetch the water bowl from the field for the geese, a small round blue washing up bowl. I obediantly obliged, never had any trouble before as a I usually went with my Mum, Brother or Dad to feed the geese. So relishing the new found responsibility I struck out like a Hobbit in search of a flaming hole in the ground.

Still wearing my night nappie and nothing else. I trudged quite merrily out of the door, and striding confidently towards the water bowl......

WHAM!!! On my face on the floor, couldn't get up, having my neck bitten, and being pounded on by a very fucking randy Gander. All the Gander saw was a demure slightly goose like nappy clad arse waddling across his fucking field the term "fresh meat!" must have crossed his mind. All I could do was scream, took like what seemed hours for my mum to come out and grab the fucking thing off me. My Dad swiftly went out side and caught the mucky feathered rapist.

Now with relevance to an earlier post My dad dispatched of the Goose, he didn't show me him doing it but showed me the carcass afterwards. He then took me straight back to the fence of the field and made me feed the rest of them. We had the neighbours round for sunday lunch too. "Fresh Meat!" Indeed you bastard.

Now as regards that earlier post. A bar across the neck doesn't always work first time, the best thing is to bend the head over the top of the bar with the body under the armpit and pull upwards whilst firmly holding the head, my Dads' preferred method however was to put a police cone over the goose and wait until the head popped out through the top. Then a good slice with some ridiculously sharp shears or machetti, it was also quite comedic if they got loose watching them try to run about in a police cone. Oh and as for plucking a dunk in boiling water to soften the skin and feathers, pluck, and then for the final stubble my mum always used to use my dads' razor, she never told him.

Sorry for length and poor typing I am typing this with broken fingers. :D Not joking.
( skeltonator Needs some new daps., Wed 30 May 2012, 23:26, 1 reply)

another goose related finger injury?

(technocore, Thu 31 May 2012, 0:24, closed)

Thankfully no.
Slightly more wierd than that. I managed to break my right index finger in my sleep last night, I couldn't figure out why the fuck my finger was broken when I woke up. Wierd though, first and I hope only time I have done that!
( skeltonator Needs some new daps., Thu 31 May 2012, 0:48, closed)