I had planned Duck Shooting Season to start
off with a real bang this year.
I had spent months getting my mai-mai ready,
and weeks getting the essential liquid supplies stored in a safe place that
was near enough to be handy, but far enough away not to cramp my elegant accomdation.
Me and my mates all rose early on a cold foggy
morning and went out to the clammy dam to await the dawn.
We waited in earnest anticipation as the first
rays of sunlight hit the sky and then we went let fly a volley of shots that
would have been heard from here to Palmerston North.
Well, the ducks took off and we pretended to
shoot at them (and missed them all of course being anti-blood sport at heart
like Princess Di) and when the fog lifted and there wasn’t a duck to be
seen we sat ourselves down to console ourselves at our bad luck.
Several hours later, (and several dozen stubbies
later) we heard a noise that sounded suspiciously like a duck. With a sense
of duty we lifted our guns again and turned to look out of our gun sights.
Jeez! I don’t know what we saw exactly,
whether it was the beer talking or whether we’d all gone crazy…
but there it was… a giant white drake! I’m not kidding you! It was
at least a metre tall, pure white and paddling right towards us!
Well, we were out of there quick-smart, I can
tell you, and we didn’t look back until we were all safely away at the
Tiko Pub.
Now after a few days reflection I look back
on the incident and I ask myself was it real, or was it all a figment of my
imagination?
