My father worked in the distant 70s at the airport as a technician for aircraft maintenance (such as AN-2). Each season they were sent to different areas of our not small area to process the fields with chemicals. In one of these journeys, the case described below occurred. On a warm summer evening before the evening flights, my father in a car, allocated to the crew, was heading to the aircraft for the TO. On the road of the villages walked goats (more than 100). Leaving the turn, the driver did not have time to slow and struck one. As usual, from nowhere to come, the grandmothers came and began to slander and sweep the curse of the demons who left almost half the village without food.



The father had already prepared for the selection of "flights" and wanted to offer a material compensation, but then the driver flew out of the car and rushed under the wheels. After pulling out the body of the fat goose behind her neck with a loud voice, he asked, "Who's the goose broke my resor?" the grandmothers quieted, but the roaring did not stop, then she drove again and even louder asked, "I am asking for the last time! Whose goose broke my resor!They were all silent until one. Making his face even more serious, he said, “OK! The examination will show!" and, throwing the goose into the body, went on, and in the evening there was a "experiment" with watermelon and fried goose.