A Goose Tale Is Not a Gooseberry

A goose in a noose got loose today. At last. At times he had watched as bodies of his fellow feathers had been brought out of the shed having walked in just fine. On the promise of a treat. And then crushed. Defeat. Strung. He had watched horrified. Noticing them swinging through the tiny window. With glazed eyes. And dropped feathers. Yet now he had a chance. He had spent hours pecking with the tip of his beak. Now on his feet he began to look around for means to escape. Then he could hear a rustling sound so he wobbled over to investigate. It was several hooded mice, and rats with suits of armour. Waving little flags. Upon the flags was the crest. The crest was of a golden goose. When they say the goose they all knelt before him. The lead mouse riding his guinea pig came to the front of the army and unfurled a scroll and read "we the casts of castaway victorious vermin have come to rescue you the golden goose from certain death at the hands of man. You must come with is now to pickle lounge underground where you must recuperate before the winged banquet and coronation. You are the golden goose. When recovered we aim to release all geese. Then fly to the distant island of gibgub to make a new life away from destruction and death. The man not only kills he also disrespects trees and fields and our ancient bracken cousins of fable. So they will also be joining us. You will now leave." The goose smiled pensively though for he was not sure quite how he could get out of this environment he was in. With no gaps, window breaks, or holes either. The rats had attacked their way in using pickaxes and the gap was wide enough to squash the feathers through. The door banged as they raced across the ninety acre lawn into bowbell woods. Loud human curses tainted the air but to no avail for the army and the goose were now safe. They entered the tunnel and were taken by zig zag zephyr to the under room. Here the goose found a delightful spread of wonderful food. A fantastic fish tank to regard whilst consuming the many tasty plates. And a billiard table where the mice were playing the rats. After many more moons and suns had past and several more geese were brought in to safety it was time to fly to the new island. The golden harness and crown were placed upon the lead goose and all bowed. Then all the mice and rats and the guinea pig cavalry climbed onto their flying transportation and sailed into the air with graceful, powerful swoops. Arriving at the island they were happy but tired. So made themselves a natural hut, dined on food found wild then slept in a blissful sleep of safety. But no Saffron. Frontage flames fry fermented figures. And a little bee circling a ninety thousand foot flower of all hues. Good. Xxxx militarisation Z