Cyril and the Geese

In France one of the food delicacies is foie gras.    By force-feeding the geese their livers become fat laden to produce what is known as foie gras. This delicacy is frequently served as a pate.  According to the guide book we could find a goose former in the area we were visiting. We wanted to meet a goose farmer and see how he fed the geese. After a few wrong turns we found Cyril's farm at the end of a dirt road. It had that typical farm appearance of farm house and out buildings.   We saw a man with a ladder at a fig tree and a gaggle of geese. He was dressed for the cool October air, had a round face with gray hair on is head and a gray stubble on his chin. The most noticeable feature of his face was a big smile.  It took only a few minutes for me to realize that Cyril's English vocabulary was equal to mine of French.  We each knew about ten words of the other's language. But, through pantomime he understood that we wanted to see him feed the geese. There was a goose in the farmyard that followed him like a faithful dog and Cyril had to scold him not to follow us into the feeding room. 

In the feeding room the geese were in pens and Cyril sat on a chair designed for goose feeding.  He had one leg over the goose and the goose's neck extended up between his legs. He showed us the he was not holding the goose with any pressure, his leg simply kept the goose in place. From the overhead he inserted the feeding tube into the goose's bill and down it's throat and deposited a measure of corn into the goose. He then massaged the  neck.  He allowed us to feel the corn inside the goose by feeling it's neck. Cyril laughingly petted the goose before releasing it. Contrary to popular opinion the goose does not appear to be stressed out or unwilling to undergo force-feeding.

He then led us to the room where the geese were slaughtered and processed. We ended up in the sales room and bought some of his product.

As we were leaving, Cyril beckoned us to stop our car so he could give us a double handful of freshly picked figs.

My Metro Adventure

Parisian Adventure
We were on a crowded, I mean we were packed in like a can of sardines, Metro car. Metro, that's what they call the subway trains in Paris. I was holding on to my leather jacket with one hand and the overhead rail with the other. Claudette was close by hanging on too. Right after it started moving I got this sensation in my leg. You know, like when bug or something flies up your pants leg. Then it felt like there was a hand in my pocket like somebody was gonna play pocket pool. I knew it wasn't my hand and looked across at Claudette an saw that she was holding on with both hands. I took a chance turning loose that rail I was holding on to to check my pocket. 'Bout that time the train was slowing down I barely missed grabbing the twelve-year-girl's hand that was in my pocket. The train stopped, the door opened, and she was out the door like a bat out of hell.
So if you're in Paris and you feel a hand in your pocket, make sure it's yours or your main squeeze's.