Duck, Duck, Goose

The Groundhog Ranch lies in a dip in the world. Water collects in the field behind the house, the front yard, and the side yard. And the basement. Since Hurricane Ivan came a-calling, and dumped 3 or 4 inches of rain in beautiful rural Carlisle, there has been water in the back field. It has a whole rice paddy thing going on. I've found that where there is water, there are ducks. For the past two weeks I keep hearing "wack, wack, quack, quack" every time I go outside. But I can't see them. Last Saturday, after the big Jack excursion, we watched a flock of about 30 Canadian geese land in the field. So there is a regular duck/goose extravaganza going on out there. Last night I finally saw the ducks. Oh my God. The ducks. No lie, there must have been 50 mallards out there, both ducks and drakes, quacking around, swimming in the water and just generally acting like they were in some pond instead of a puddle in a field. It pleased me.

At 7:16 this morning, the shooting started. I know, I know, it's part of life, and geese damage farmers fields, and yada, yada, yada, but damn. I felt really bad, knowing that last night those ducks were having such a high old time, and now they're either dead, or scared to death.

Briefly I considered running out there in my jammies yelling, "RUN AWAY FLY AWAAAYYY..." But, in my ongoing campaign to not seem like a madwomen, I thought the better of it. Anyway, my mother blows her horn at deer hunters, and I find that most uncool.

Not the way today should have started. Not at all.