Our Goose is Cooked

Well, not really. Although that was one of the options; the others being 1) sending them back to auction on Saturday, 2) gutting them and stringing them up on a pole at the front of the driveway, 3) putting them in the pen with the donkey and watching the ensuing fight or 4) move them out to the pasture by the pond.
Far away from my children.

I won't say "I told you so." but, I told you so.

One of the geese, more dangerous than the poor roosters we sent to certain death a couple of months back, attacked poor S.Rube the other night. She had gone out to the trampoline after dinner and I was cleaning the kitchen. Then, I heard horrified SHRIEKING! At first, I thought that she had fallen climbing out of the trampoline, but when I looked, she was being viciously attacked by a goose. The other, which I suspect is the female, was idly standing by, with a disapproving look on her face. I ran, with my weapon of choice in hand.
The deadly dish towel.
I mean, this goose was attacking my child, for Chrissakes..... what better weapon is there than the dish towel? (the spatula? a butcher knife?) The dish towel is capable, as we all know, of delivering a stinging snap that even a wooden spoon can't duplicate. It was well-suited for the job of goose slaying.

With Ma-Ma Rube to the rescue, the attack came to a quick and sudden halt. (I only needed a couple of swats with the towel.) S.Rube had 10 bite marks on her - starting with the worst of them on her collarbone and going down to her chest, stomach, arms and back.
I was furious. She was forgiving.
More forgiving than is appropriate here, I believe. When provided with the options, she chose the relocation plan. And was, in fact, worried that the sheep would go after the geese. (I was concerned with the sheep's safety myself.)

What a tough little farm girl.