Bao loved the goose, but the goose didn't like him.

At 3 AM this morning, my furred friend experienced what I will tactfully refer to as an urgent call of nature. Urgent being the operative word. Out we went, into the dark and the freezing cold. Bao searched meticulously for just the right spot, while I shivered and kept a lookout for the coyotes and bobcats who come over the wall and into the garden each night to drink out of the fountain.

In the daylight hours, the garden belongs to us. But at night, it belongs to them. Sort of like South Vietnam in 1965.

I was surprised at how little edible goose there was on the goose, once it was cooked. There were three of us (and it was a 10 lb goose) but we pretty well decimated it. If there had been one or two more guests, we'd have been fighting over the carcass.

Goose gives off an incredible amount of fat -- a whole roasting pan full of it. My recipe (from a book published back when we didn't know about chloresterol) recommended rendering the fat and saving it. Potatoes fried in goose fat are apparently divine. I'm sure they are.