Previous Challenge Entry (Level 1 – Beginner)
Topic: Christmas Cooking/Baking (not recipes) (10/16/08)
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TITLE: The Gift of Goose | Previous Challenge Entry
By Yvette R
10/23/08 -
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He wasn’t normally so obsessive or prone to theft, but the frozen goose had captured his imagination. By day it looked dull and leathery, sitting awkwardly in the sink with one wing and leg propped up at an ungainly angle, shedding its weight in water. But by night…by night its pale skin glowed in the moonlight, and it became a magical temptress that he could not resist. He had spied it through the windows on his way to check the gates, and that night he had dreamt not of white Christmases, but of glowing white birds that were transformed into golden birds that smelled like roasted heaven.
The mistress of the house was a creature of habit, and before he had even begun his breakfast, she was already busy in the kitchen. His living-quarters were to the rear of the backyard, and he could see her quite clearly through the extraordinary large windows with which the kitchen was blessed. They extended from countertop to ceiling, and ran the entire length of the garden-facing wall, so that the mistress could enjoy the beauty without while she created beauty within. Of course, she overlooked the fact that one can see in a window as easily as one can see out of one, and so while she kept an eye on the goings-on outside, he kept an eye on the goings-on inside.
Which was why, on this balmy Christmas day, he could loiter beneath the plum and apricot trees, and watch her preparing his goose. She glanced his way once while she was salting it, but he avoided her gaze. It would do him no good if her eyes met his, for she had that way of knowing things that only those of her gender seem to have. He didn’t fear her, exactly, but he did respect both her powers of perception, and her ability to lock the backdoor when she left for church later that day. Now would be a good time, he thought, to find some business to do in the tool-shed, and so he slipped unobtrusively into its sanctuary.
When he emerged a short while later to ostensibly check on the bird-feeders, he was greeted with the scent of spiced apples and raisins, celery and cider. Pausing to better introduce himself to the flavorful fusion that flowed from the kitchen, he watched with fascination as the goose was filled with the aromatic mixture. His goose, he mentally corrected himself. He had never had a Christmas meal as grand as the one the mistress was unwittingly preparing for him, and he barely restrained the shiver of anticipation as he caught a glimpse of the goose’s pale skin disappearing into the oven.
The sun had not yet set when the pale bird reappeared as a vision of roasted glory. The late afternoon air soaked up the rich aroma as it spilled through an open window, smothering his senses most deliciously. The goose was carefully covered and placed on the kitchen table, and he watched like an obsessive guard while people peeked beneath the cover and stole bits of stuffing. Their pilfering annoyed him, and it was with great relief that he witnessed their eventual exodus to the church service he could not attend. As the final car engine faded into the distance, he stretched muscles taut from anticipation, and boldly approached the house.
As was expected, the kitchen door was unlocked, and with a gentle nudge, the latch clicked and he was inside. He paused to listen to the silence, and then padded excitedly to the table atop of which sat his glorious goose. There was no need for silence or subterfuge; no need to worry about the muddy prints he left behind. Grabbing the goose, he turned to the door and…
…there stood the mistress of the house, watching him with an enigmatic smile upon her face, and holding a platter upon which lay what appeared to be another very large roasted goose. He stared at her uncertainly and waited for the inevitable scream; but instead she simply laughed, and placed the large platter in the space his goose had recently vacated.
“Merry Christmas, Bully,” she said with a wink, and headed for the front door.
The best gifts of Christmas, Bully thought later as he rested his massive black head on equally massive black paws, are the gifts of forgiveness…and the gifts of goose.
***
Author's note: Based on a true story :)
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