appear at altitude, circle, and drop in for hours. Other days one can only listen to passing geese and be watched by the curious Juncos and Bushtits. My Lab suddenly lifts his ears, looks straight back over his head, in a bound swaps directions and half lunges skyward as, with a roar, ducks scream over us willow high. They're across the pond in milliseconds and simply flit a wingbeat in recognition of the decoys. A second later the flock rears ninety degrees to the left, drops slightly into an unseen opening, rockets up and out, reverses direction like a flock of sandpipers, crosses their old path to the right, veers left again and, juking and jiving at deck-high hyper speed, disappear into the narrowing, dead end canyon. That's the best damn imitation of a flock of Teal I've ever seen, I think to myself. Except those aren't Teal! Silence again. I think I know what's going to happen next, and my thumb plays circles on the safety. "They're going to come back", I tell Eric. "There's no more water up in there. You take birds on the right. I'll take them on the left." Silence. The lab tenses and I flip off my safety. Twittering shapes appear in the low wall of willow branches across the pond and I hear the rush of wind. The flock is over the water and upon us even as we raise our guns. Two birds react to the decoys. Without cupping their wings, without slowing, they flip completely onto their backs to tumble to water level, then flare into an instantaneous stop and hover, web-footed hummingbirds caught between landing and the pull of the departing flock just then clearing our heads. Black shapes streak my peripheral vision but I know them to be too fast, too close, and too late. I dump my bird from the momentary standstill, then join Eric in blowing five holes around the departing bird accelerating onto and over us. And gone. Silence. Feathers float down. Ripples widen from the belly up, leg kicking bird on the water. "Holy shit! What were those?", Eric asks. In curiosity I meet my lab halfway back. I knew from the first glimpse of orange legs what the species was. It was the size and body configuration I had to confirm. Slim, sleek, small. Green head. Reaching the boat I hand the bird to Eric, who has been hunting only four seasons. "It's a Mallard!.....Do they usually do that?" "Yeah, of a kind. And no, they don't....thank God". PMP
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