Except, what a surprise, it didn’t quite work out like that. Oh, the feeding went all right. Believe me, a goose knows how to eat. The greedy little pig, excuse my French, never stops filling its face, and comes running to us every time we leave the house just in case we have a little something for it. The trouble started on the day we came into the garden holding an axe. I said Sandra would think of something, didn’t I? Now I don’t think birds are very bright, but this goose seemed to have a dim understanding that an axe isn’t exactly nourishing. To put it plainly, it refused to stand there and do an impression of Marie Antoinette. Not that I’ve ever heard of Marie Antoinette, but Sandra said she was famous for losing her head when all about her were keeping theirs. Something to do with Kipling, she said, but I’ve never kippled, so I didn’t really understand.
Anyway, this ungrateful bird, that’s the goose, not Sandra, after all we had done for it, not only refused to do the decent thing, it actually attacked us, and I can tell you, when you’ve been attacked by a goose, you stay attacked. That beak isn’t just for eating. Talk about sharp, it should be against the Geneva Convention. I used to know a Geneva, and she was a bit sharp too, but I have my doubts as to whether she deserved that goose. Sandra just gave me one of her looks and I kind of guessed we were talking about two different things, so it was probably some other Geneva since I can’t remember the last name of the one I knew.
Not only the beak. Those wings can do a fair bit of damage as well. In fact, it proved to be a bit awkward eating my Christmas dinner left handed, but Sandra cut up my slices of ham for me, and even put a sprig of holly on the top. She’s very thoughtful like that, is Sandra. She said it was