My grandaughter Mary tells me she now has an F.G.O.D. on the farm.
What's that?
A flying goose of death.
It seems a white Canadian snow goose flew over the farm, saw all the good grub and decided to stay. First thing she did was leap up and bite the biggest sheep's behind. She held on for all she was worth, flapping her wings while the sheep ran for its life. The goose seems bent on educating everyone on the farm about who is top dog, er, goose.
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