A lot of years ago we were the unwilling recipients of a dozen or so wild ducks full of shot and feathers. I innocently mentioned to my mother that we had all these ducks and asked if she’d like to come and help eat them . Gail and I stayed up half the night plucking feathers from the ducks, prying out lead shot, and generally mutilating their skins. Mom showed up the next day with her sister, a lovely but domineering and “take-charge” type woman. Aunt Peg effectively barred us from our own kitchen, filled our kitchen sink with soapy water and proceeded to scrub the ducks with a stiff brush -inside and out.
The ducks were stuffed with something or other, roasted and served. I could not get the thought of all that soap out of my mind, so they tasted soapy to me, and besides they were dry tough and gamey – our one and only encounter with wild fowl.