Free Death Takes a Gander by Christine Goff

be messy.”
    Cecilia stepped forward and draped a piece of plastic tarp across the boy’s lap. “This should help, dear.”
    The cowboy looked scared.
    “You’re going to hold the bird’s body, like this.” He placed the goose in Junior’s arms, with the butt held high. “You need to raise the tail and legs to an approximate forty-five degree angle to the head and neck.”
    The young man looked confused.
    “Point the butt between the one and two on a clock face,” Dorothy said.
    “Gotcha.” Junior raised the goose’s rear end, then fumbled the bird, trapping it on his lap. The goose hissed and flapped one wing, knocking Junior’s Stetson to the floor. The cowboy’s eyes widened. “Is it going to peck me?”
    “No, no. It’s okay,” Eric said, stepping in to reposition the bird. “She’s too weak to do much. Hold her tighter. Try raising her butt up and down.”
    Junior did what he was told.
    “Now you’re getting the feel of it.” Eric stepped away. “Are you comfortable?”
    “No!”
    Everybody laughed. The boy’s ears turned red.
    “You’re doing great, Junior,” Lark said.
    He ducked his head and grinned, his whole face pinking.
    Eric pointed at the young man. “This is actually the most uncomfortable job. Whoever takes this position has to keep shifting the elevation and position of the goose’s body to facilitate the flushing procedure.” Eric turned to Teddy. “The other handler keeps the head and neck in an outstretched position.”
    Eric showed him how to grip the bird under the chin, and stretched out its neck. “The person in this spot is responsible for watching for signs of stress and/or aspiration of lavage fluids and effluent.”
    “Pardon me, sir,” Junior said, hoisting the bird so he could look at Eric. “What’s ‘effluent’?”
    “It’s what we want the bird to throw up.”
    Junior made a sick face, then the goose puckered its anal vent and discharged a blob of bright green poop. The dung rolled down the tarp and plopped to the floor, splashing like a raindrop. Junior exaggerated his horror. “Maybe I could switch with Teddy?”
    “Sorry, we need you there.” Eric patted him on the shoulder. “Look at it this way: it doesn’t have much smell.”
    “Well, it ain’t smellin’good.”
    “Isn’t,” corrected Dorothy.
    Eric turned back to Teddy. “It’s your job to monitor the insertion of the tube. You should be able to feel it slide in.”
    He handed the plastic tube to Harry, who inserted it into the goose’s mouth. The bird fought the procedure, but Teddy and Harry held firm.
    “Can you feel it sliding past the glottis and down the esophagus?”
    Teddy frowned. “I reckon.”
    “Great, then avoiding the nares—”
    For Teddy’s benefit, Lark interjected. “The nostrils.”
    “—clamp the goose’s bill over the tubing to keep it from shifting out of place each time another syringeful of water is needed.”
    Teddy positioned his hand, and Eric moved around behind Harry. “This person depends on the others to let him know how aggressive to be. We want maximum results, but everything depends on the overall condition of the bird.”
    The group nodded.
    “Once the tubing is in place, Harry flushes water in and out using the syringes Lark hands him.”
    On Eric’s cue, Lark filled a sixty-millilitre syringe with warm water and handed it to Harry.
    “How much water is that?” Cecilia asked.
    “About a third of a cup.”
    Harry inserted the end of the syringe into the tubing and started to squeeze. The goose struggled.
    “Real slow!” warned Eric. He watched a moment. “Once he’s done, he applies a little suction to bring up the stomach contents.”
    “Sort of like syphoning gas,” Teddy said.
    “You’ve got it,” Eric said. “Next it’s Lark’s job to make sure the effluent drains over the screen into the collection bucket. Meanwhile, Teddy’s watching for signs of stress and/or aspiration of fluids. And that’s it. The process is