Christmas is Coming, The Goose is Getting . . . Flat?

Thoughts of Christmas dinner probably call to mind traditional foods: a stuffed, roasted turkey with all the trimmings; a pineapple glazed ham, studded with cloves; a festive crown roast of pork wreathed in a string of fresh cranberries. Few people, I imagine, picture themselves either serving or eating Christmas road kill.

Several years ago the beloved Swede and I lived near a friend whose husband traveled frequently for work. It seemed she often found herself in the most unlikely predicaments when he was out of town, leaving her alone with the kids. Once she called, asking my husband to come over and rescue her dog which had gotten trapped under the porch, behind a snow bank. Another time her kids were pretending to be horses, jumping over hurdles they had built in the living room, when her son fell and broke his arm causing it to dangle at unnatural angles. She asked if I would come over and stay with her other kids while she took him to the emergency room.

So it came as little surprise when our friend called one day, near Christmas, to say her husband was out of town and she needed some help. She had accidentally run over one of her pet geese in the driveway with her minivan.

My friend lived on a lovely, country horse property with a small, idyllic pond in front of the house. She’d purchased several geese from friends who raised them for food, thinking their presence would add a touch of charm to the little pond. Each time she pulled in the driveway toward her house, however, the geese would charge toward her van, attempting to bite the tires. One day, one of the geese made a fatal miscalculation when charging toward the van and my friend found herself with a freshly killed goose in her driveway.

Not knowing the proper way to dispose of a dead goose, my friend thought about putting it in the freezer so her husband could take care of it when he got home. Instead she called my husband, the mighty hunter, and asked what he would do. Realizing the goose had been freshly killed, and bred for food in the first place, the Swede said, “We’ll take it.”

He brought it home, plucked that bird, and put it in the freezer. And on Christmas day we enjoyed roast goose with apricot and cornbread stuffing. It was delicious.

Years later, our friends introduced us to several of their acquaintances. It didn’t take long for them to make the connection, “Oh! You’re the ones who ate the pet goose for Christmas!”

“Yes,” we responded. “Yes. We are those hillbillies.”

Our story of the road-kill Christmas goose has been told and re-told, and we continue to meet folks who have heard it second-hand. And I’m convinced that, one day, the husband found himself on a business trip, seated on a plane next to a writer who worked our story into an episode of The Office. Watch the clip, decide for yourself, and then tell me, “Do you think our little story was the inspiration for Dwight Schrute?”

So, what will you be serving for Christmas dinner this year?