OK duck lovers. Here’s the scoop on the green head I shot on Sunday morning. I was sitting on my bucket near the northeast corner of our property when he came into range as I grunted at him softly by mouth. He had his wings set and glided right into me from the northeast when I stood and fired. He was hit, but turned to his right and sailed across the center ditch hitting the water about 75 yards away from my makeshift blind. I headed to the north road go around the ditch, but Lola found the bird when I was about three-quarters of the way there. He was DOA. Shortly thereafter I saw the band.
I turned and headed back towards the blind carrying the mallard. Almost back to the blind, I looked up and four specs came out of the fog. They flew directly overhead. As I had put the shotgun sling over my shoulder, I made a mad effort to pull the gun over my head. The first three specs were too far past me for a shot, but the fourth was still in range. Pow-miss, pow-miss. Now he was out there, but my follow-up prayer shot crunched him and he fell dead on the road – once again in the neighborhood of 75 yards away.
I set the mallard down in the water and made it to the road in time to see Lola licking the goose. If the shot didn’t kill him, the fall did, because he had a broken neck and was stone dead.
Subsequently, I have learned that the mallard was banded last summer near Los Banos. Fairbanks would have been sexier, but at his tender age, he should prime for eating.
Sorry about the hen sprig. It was a case of friendly fire.