Goosey Goosey Gander
Many years ago when we were in our mid-late teens (late 70s), me and about 10 others rented a bungalow (meant for about 4-6) for a week for one of our first holidays at the local coastal town.

All was going well until about day 3 when we'd run out of food and money - having wisely spent all our money on essentials - beer.

A plan was hatched. One of our lot had a car - we would wait until the dead of night and go out into the countryside "rustling"!

Four of us (dressed in black of course) went out in the car, stopping at numerous allotments to collect plenty of Veg. (Sorry Allotment Holders!) All we needed now was meat to go with it.

All sorts of animals were considered but no-one was willing to kill and butcher a cow or sheep so we decided we could maybe handle a chicken.

We drove around a bit until we found a suitable farm. Off we wandered looking for our prey.
No chickens.
We did however find a Goose Hut. One of my mates said he'd kept chickens and his Dad used to break their necks with a quick "twist" - quite humane. He was then volunteered to do the deed.

We opened the Hut door and an inquisitive Goose came for a look. It was coaxed outside whereupon my mate grabbed it and "twisted" it's neck. All went as well as could be expected. (if you can overlook the fact that we'd stolen someone's livestock and killed it)

When we got in the car, my mate in the front seat said that it's bowels could "empty", so he held it over the gap between the two front seats, with a small piece of paper on the floor below. I was sat in one of the back seats.

After a few minutes I thought I saw it twitch. I informed my mates but they just said I was imagining it and that it had been expertly dispatched.

Two minutes later all hell broke loose as the Goose regained consciousness - it flapped its wings, squawked like fcuk and shit for England as my mate let go and it flapped round the inside of the Morris 1100 - the driver shouting for us to catch it while frantically trying to stop the car.

No-one had told us that apparently you don't kill Geese my twisting their necks.

I'd like to say that this earned the Goose a reprieve, a couple of us thought it should be let go. However, one of my murdering friend bashed it's head in with a large spanner he had in the boot :-(

I'm even sorrier to say it wasn't worth it. One of our friends was a trainee chef and he made it into a large Goose Casserole. Chewy? We'd have made better use of it if we'd re-soled our shoes.

Sorry Mr.Goose, Mr.Farmer and Mr. & Mrs. Allotment-Holders.

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(MichaelLinge (ywc), Fri 23 Dec 2011, 13:19, 1 reply)

Oh fuck, this reminds me of another.
1991 I think it was, and me and another mate went off to the Druid's Temple at Masham (a folly from the 1820s). We'd have a bit bairn around, he'd have a few spliffs and we'd then go off for a pint. No harm done.

Except this was mating season for pheasants, and one of them ran in front of my (t)rusty v-reg Datsun Cherry. Spang! I stop.

We walked back to the thing which was flailing away in the undergrowth. We looked at each other and it was obvious what was going to happen - except the thing was still alive.

My mate: "Well, go on, wring it's neck".
Me: "How?"
"You sort of pull and give a half-twist. Should kill it straight off."
"OK, here goes". I give it a sort of half-hearted pull and nothing happens. I try again with a bit more force to no noticeable effect. My mate gets impatient.
"Give it here you fucking wuss," or something to that effect. I gladly comply. He gives it a stretch to about the same effect as mine.
Realising that someone would be along sooner or later, we put the thing in the boot of the car. It expired around Scotch Corner, no doubt in abject terror.

It didn't taste all that good, and I didn't see what all the fuss is about. But if you're wanting to poach pheasants, I'd certainly recommend the 1981 Datsun Cherry.
(_(_(_(_(_(_(_(_(_ =o.o=, Fri 23 Dec 2011, 16:35, closed)