Living inland amid the arable breadbasket means that geese do not feature in my everyday shooting and the mere thought of an approaching skein of grey geese conjures up romantic images of coastal marshes or misty, winding rivers. So, when I do unexpectedly encounter a goose, there is no wonder that I suffer from ‘goose fever’ — a condition that similarly afflicted even famously experienced wildfowlers of the past, such as BB and Arthur Cadman.
It certainly did when I was on my peg on a syndicate partridge day in my home village and the cry of “geeeese!” was bellowed lustily by a distant flanker out
