When we stepped into range, mallards sprang quacking and splashing in every direction. Our guns went up, the dog ripped loose, and boom, boom, boom! As usual, we each fired three shells while marking falling birds. It was a beautiful sight to have our dog, Rebel, come springing back with a big greenhead flopping from his mouth. Rebel dropped the large drake at Dad’s feet and immediately I saw a new kind of excitement on Dad’s face. “He’s perfect,” Dad said as he stroked the soft feathers. “I’m going to mount this duck.” This was shaping up to be a great day.
After collecting the rest of our birds, we made our way back to our old, yellow, Ford pickup, and there we noticed Dad’s “perfect” mallard was still moving! We both looked at each other, half in amazement. Were we witnessing a rebirth?