The Pheasant Plucker

 I'm not the pheasant plucker,
     I'm the pheasant plucker's son,
     And I'm only plucking pheasants
     Till the pheasant plucker's come

You try saying it even before you've had a few!
Yesterda a good mate of mine rings me up with a very appealing offer of an oven-ready pheasant shot the the previous day. Well, how could one refuse such an offer? As it happens the pheasant arrived plucked and cooked. My mate had kindly done everything leaving the bird ready to be devoured.
I appreciate some people may find this sort of thing distasteful or offensive so if you feel as such and are reading this...GET A LIFE! After all it's n ature and we are top of the food chain.
Nobody loves the countryside as much as i do and i feel no anxiety of a pheasant now and again.
And, after all, its all good cos the feathers go on the compost heap and all thats wastedare the bones.
Such circumstances reminded me of the above song...go on see if YOU can say it without straying.LOL!