I remember the day I came home from school, and the shock I felt when I stood in the kitchen entrance and saw Arthur, plump and naked on the kitchen table.

I was twelve years old and really distressed to see Arthur, headless and denuded of feathers, sitting there, waiting to be put in the oven.

Dad had warned my brother and I that if Arthur defecated on the back steps once more, he was for the chop. Yes, Dad did use that word defecated, we were more polite in the fifties.

Arthur and Rose were two Muscovy Ducks, or I should say Arthur was a drake and Rose a duck. He was  enormous. They did not quack like normal ducks but would hiss or chirp. The drakes are raised as meat, and grow quite big, and the ducks are useful for their prolific egg laying. She would lay several eggs a day.

They would eat anything and Arthur was a great fly catcher. He seemed to love eating flies.

When it came time to sit down for our dinner, I could hardly look at Dad carving into Arthur. I refused to eat him, and my brother later said he only ate him because he was starving.

Like all teenage boys my brother was always hungry and it was not unusual for him to eat six or seven weetbix in milk for an after school snack.

After the demise of Arthur, my brother and I found a new home for Rose, with a school friend, whose family had other ducks. We did not tell our father or mother our plan, and one day put Rose into a sack and transported her to her new home. I was fearful that Rose would end up in the oven. It took a long time to get over the shock of seeing my pet, headless, plump and naked on the kitchen table.