It started a few weeks ago.

Our K8 muttered something to me about buying a turkey from some bloke that would help Puppychild’s school.  I’m all for helping the school, so I said that was fine by me.

She phoned a few days later to suggest that we got a goose instead.  I said that was fine by me.  A bird is a bird so long as it’s not an ostrich.

She phoned yet again a few days ago to say my goose was ready and that I could collect it from the school.

She phoned an hour after to say I could collect my goose from the local butcher.  This was getting confusing.

I called down to the butcher yesterday afternoon but they didn’t have it.  They said it had arrived but that they had passed it on to the bloke from the school who ordered it.  They suggested I call to the school but I pointed out that the school was closed.  They said they couldn’t help and that I should ask the bloke.  I didn’t know who the bloke was though.

I phoned K8.

Several phone calls later, it was all arranged.  I had to call to her house where the goose would be delivered.

I called around to her house and played Snap with Puppychild.  Puppychild won because she cheated. 

Finally, at long last, I was united with my goose, but then I realised something was wrong.  I was expecting an oven ready goose but I realised that this goose wasn’t quite oven ready when it chased Wouldya, the big black dog out of the house and then ate Wouldya’s dinner.  It then proceeded to demolish K8’s Christmas tree while it was chasing Puppychild around the room.

We managed to corner it, and I grabbed it by the neck and dragged it out to the car where it promptly decorated the passenger seat with copious quantities of shite.

I got it home eventually and managed to get it into the house.

“Jayzus! It’s fucking live!!” shrieked Herself.

“You noticed?” says I as I let go of the goose.

The goose promptly attacked Sandy to the accompaniment of loud shrieks and whistles from the guinea pigs.  Herself waded into the fracas to try to save Sandy and  got a duckbill up the arse for her efforts.  Now I know the origin of the expression “to goose”.

In the confusion, somehow the door to the garden flew open, and the goose shot out.  Judging by the noise it took a fancy to the neighbour’s cats.  I haven’t seen it since.

I have to go out now.

I have to buy a tin of baked beans for Christmas dinner.