Not three words but a little goose tail. When, in the mid 1950 and living in Egypt and it is coming up for Christmas. My mum asked our Arab gardener if he could get us a goose. Not a problem he says in a bit of mixed Arabic and English as his shoulders shrug and head nods. The next morning he returns with a gobbling goose tucked under his arm. Needless to say, mum I believe was expecting something other than a live goose. Oh! Says the gardener and immediately pulls a knife from his thobe pocket, puts the goose on the ground and slits its neck. The goose takes off, wings flapping and neck hanging loosely, the head dragging on the ground and the goose covering good ground in it's wavy last run. That was 70 years ago and I can still remember it vividly.