A Short Story by
It was late fall in 1942 when my cousin Billy and I decided
we needed to do some duck huntin. We had been sittin in the outhouse,
which was a two holer, reading the Sear's Roebuck catalog (or
mainly looking at the girls underwear pages), when we found a
catalog from a hunting store in Ft. Worth. We were admiring the
duck decoys and duck calls, but having no money knew they were
out of reach for us as we were broke.
"Billy, let's go duck huntin!", I said.
"Where we gonna get any decoys Nolan?", Billy asked.
(He calls me Nolan when he wants something and "peckerwood"
when he wants to pester me and pick a fight).
"Well Billy, I'll tell you what, we'll just whittle us
up a few" I reply. "I know we can do it and it ain't
gonna cost us anything but if we cut our finger we'll have to
take a spoonfull of turpentine and sugar to keep from gettin lockjaw".
Every day after school found Billy and I whittling us a few
decoys. It took awhile as our old rusty boy scout knives were
always dull as Granny said we had no business with sharp knives.
A few weeks later we had three of the finest lookin decoys that
ever came out of Texas. Having no paint, but using our imagination,
we mixed and poured lime for the outhouse over them. White decoys
were just the thing we thought. We had seen a few ducks landing
in PaPa's farm pond a few days before, none white, but some had
a little white on them. A little black soot dabed on here and
there finished the paint job. Boy were we proud of them suckers.
We even gave old "Dawg" a swipe or two of lime to make
him disappear.
We couldn't wait to show PaPa our decoys when he got in from
the field. We had already showed them to Granny and she said they
was fine looking ducks. PaPa took one look at our three dekes
and asked what they were. Billy and I replied, "Them's duck
decoys PaPa". Even Papa thought they were good as he stated
"If they could fool me they ought to fool a duck, but I've
never seen a duck with a square head before". He must have
got snuff up his nose as he began to cough and bend over and he
was shaking a little like he had the quivers.
Billy and I were pretty well set as we had the old double
barrel 12 guage smoothbore and 6 black powder shells. Now we had
decoys to go along with the gun. PaPa had a farm pond surrounded
on three sides by cat-tails so what more could we want. I also
had old "Dawg" who, everyone knew was the finest huntin
dog around.
Early the next mornin, after one of Granny's big breakfasts,
we set out for the farm pond. There was an old wooden raft Billy
and I had built (or rather tied together) the summer before already
on the bank. We drug it out to the edge of the water. Hard work
for two small men as it was water logged and heavy.
Billy and I had washed many a crawdad up on the bank by running
and jumping from one end of the raft to the other.We would jump
off, pick them up, put them in a toesack and take them for Granny
to cook for us. Worked fine for crawdad catchin so why not as
a boat for duck huntin.
"Billy, since we need to keep the decoys in one place
so the wind don't blow them back up on the bank, why don't we
tie them to that old stump in the middle of the pond. You kin
dive down and tie them with string underwater so the ducks won't
see the string and they won't blow away". I suggested.
"I knew I would get the short end of the stick as I usually
do when I listen to you", Billy says.
"Aw shucks Billy, we been waitin to try out that deep
sea diving suit we made so this would be a good time, and besides
if you dive I'll pump air for you". Back in the summer our
Uncle Red had given us an army gas mask. Billy and I had seen
divers in the war serials at the Saturday picture show so we knew
we needed a diving outfit.
Billy and I had rigged up the gas mask with about 10 feet
of air hose and attached it to a bicycle pump. He could put on
the gas mask, run the rubber hose thru the side, and I would work
the bicycle pump and he could breathe air. We had our diving rig
hid at the pond in the cat-tails so it would be handy when the
time came to try it out.
"Aw come on Billy, put the diving suit on, and get ready
to dive." I said. "Dawg, get out of the way, and turn
loose of the air hose"!
Billy began to put on the gas mask while I untangled the hose
and made sure it was attached to the bicycle pump.
"Billy, better strap them two big bricks to your feet
so's you'll sink" I advised, handing him two big bricks and
some rubber straps we had cut from an old red inner tube... With
a look of sheer terror Billy complied. Billy was bigger than me
and a little older but I was smarter. Besides that I had Billy
blackmailed as I told him if he didn't do as I told him to I'd
tell the Preacher that it was him who had poked Sarah Ann in the
rearend with a pencil during prayer at church last Sunday. She
leaped three feet in the air and let out a scream you could hear
for miles. Billy was sure scared I was gonna open my mouth and
tell on him, especially when the Preacher told Granny it was probably
me as I had a sinful way about me.
Well sir, Billy stepped off the raft, Dawg jumped in on top
of him, I pumped air, and Billy sank straight to the bottom.
Dummy, I'm thinking, you was so scared you forgot to take
the string to tie the decoys. All I could see was mud, bubbles
and Dawg paddling toward the bank. Evidently I wasn't pumping
enough air. A few seconds later Billy bobbed to the surface, screaming
something about me and Dawg, and threatening to kill both of us
for nearly downing him. He hollered "He didn't care what
I told the Preacher" he wasn't gonna go back down and tie
the decoys.
As I reached the far end of the raft I hollered "Dummy,
you forgot the string" .
I didn't know Billy knew so many bad words. More blackmail
material I'm thinking to myself.
I finally told Billy we better just tie our decoys to the
top of the stump and don't worry about ducks seeing the string.
For some strange reason Billy agreed with me, and he don't usually
do that. After pushing ourselves back to the bank of the pond
with our pushing poles we went home to wait for the day duck season
opened..... Opening day being the first day we could get back
to the pond.
I asked PaPa if I could borrow his mucking boots to go duck
huntin in and he agreed altho he said they would be pretty big
for a young squirt. Billy was gonna borrow his dads muckin boots
so he would also have a pair. Duck hunters had to have real rubber
boots back then.
I asked Granny if Billy and I needed a license and she informed
us that, no we didn't, since it was our pond and any old ducks
crazy enough to land on it was ours. I told her that the Federal
man might come and arrest me and Billy if we didn't have a license.
Granny stated, as she was pokin a hole in her chewing gum and
pouring a little snuff in the hole "not but once he won't,
or he will ketch the dickens from me". Now Granny may be
little but she can put a whoopin on you if you cross her. I'd
feel kinda sorry for the Federal man if he did come around.
Up early the next Saturday morning. Granny wanted to know
why Billy and I was up before she even had breakfast on the table.
"Me, Billy and old Dawg gonna go duck huntin Granny".
"You be careful you hear, and if you kill any ducks bring
them home and I'll cook them for you and Billy. A fine duck dinner
would be nice for a change around here". she said, with that
big million dollar smile. My Granny always had a extra wide smile
in the mornins before she put her teeth in.
We ate a big breakfast and commenced to dress for our hunting
trip. I had to put all the extra sox I owned in the toes of PaPa's
rubber muckin boots just to keep them on my feet. We had on long
handles, two pairs of pants, three shirts and two jackets. PaPa's
muckin boots came up to my crotch but I figured that would keep
me even warmer. There was a "Blue Norther" comin in
PaPa stated so it was gettin cold outside and the wind was blowin
out of the North. Perfect duck huntin weather.
As we departed Granny hollered "Be careful boys and don't
get wet".
"Try not to Granny and if we get to cold we'll come home
pretty soon". I answered her as Billy and I waddled off the
back porch.
It was so cold outside my stocking cap with the eye holes
in it wasn't even keepin my head warm, and Billy was muttering
something about he must be crazy to let me talk him into this.
A screech owl let out a loud screech so I decided I better let
Billy lead the way down to the pond.
"Billy shut up talkin or you'll scare the ducks away".
To which he replied he had to do something since he had on
so many clothes he could hardly walk.
As we approcahed the pond severl ducks took flight. "I
told you they was ducks here Billy".
We slipped our toesacks over our heads so we would be hid
from the ducks.
"What'u mean the sacks are tight Billy. They'll just
keep us warm as toast" I said as I pushed my arms thru the
openings in the side of the sack.
I told Billy we needed to start callin ducks. We didn't have
any fancy duck call, just mouthed called them ducks. "quack,
quack, quack" I'd call and then Billy would go "quack,quack,quack,quack".
I reminded him he was quackin too much.
Pretty soon we heard them ducks answering us. "quack,quack".
"Billy hear that quackin, ducks is comin".
"Billy there's 6 or 8 of them right off the end of the
pond". I whispered.
Yeah "but their walkin".
"What difference does that make, who cares how they got
here, if they walk instead of fly we might hit one".
"I'm gonna shoot" I tell Billy as I cock back the
hammer on the right side!
"Better not" Billy says, "them's" !
Too late. I fired and could just barely make out four dead
ducks laying on the ground, one in the water and three out.
"Hey Billy we did it", I said, as Dawg knocked Billy
in the water and I began to run or rather stumbled for the dead
ducks before Dawg could beat me and eat one.
Billy kept mumbling "now you've gone and done it".
Billy said since we killed them (don't know where he got this
we business) we better pick and clean them before we take them
to Granny to cook.
"They shore do stink" Billy says as he was picking
feathers, "and they ain't very fat".
"Shut up and keep pulling feathers Billy".
Later we presented them to Granny. She cooked them for Sunday
dinner while Billy and I set beaming at the dinner table. Every
one said they were the best ducks they had ever ate. PaPa said
they must have traveled a longs way to get to Texas as you only
had to chew them twice, but that they wasn't bad ducks.
What kind were they you ask?
Well Billy and I wasn't sure as we weren't much into duck
identification.
"You wanna go again tomorrow Billy" I asked.
"Nope, duck huntin ain't for me" he replied."and
besides Aunt Myrtle is still looking for four of her Muscovy ducks".
I didn't think you'd go Billy, you're a big sissy, you gotta
be a man to go duck huntin in a Texas "Blue Norther".
And like I told you Billy, "Ducks Is Ducks"!!!!
This is the third of my collection of
non-fiction short stories about the most memorable period of my
life. The late 30"s and early 40's were rough times for everyone.
However, close family ties, good moral values, and a desire to
make the most of what we had, (which wasn't much in material wealth),stern
discipline and allowing kids to be kids, soon made a kid a man.
Born and raised in Mineral Wells, Texas, fortunate to have farmers
as Grandparents, I had many an opportunity as a youngster to roam
the country along the Brazos River. My intention is to leave the
short stories for my grandkids. Perhaps they will provide an insight
to the family values of yesteryear, values that seem to have escaped
a majority of this younger generation.
I hope you enjoy reading the stories.
I'm presently working on a few more such as the fond memories
of fox hunting trips on a cold fall night with my PaPa, attending
a KKK meeting (derned old fools thought just because they were
wearing a sheet over their head their voices weren't recognized)
prior to the hunt to keep things lively.
Then there was the time, in later years,
as a young sailor, fishing off Key West, Florida in in a heavy
fog, in the Devil's Triangle, and perhaps seeing things which
were a figment of my imagination, or were they?
I'm not a professional writer and don't
pretend to be, never tried my hand at it, but what the heck, maybe
someone will get a kick out of the stories, and the stories will
bring back a few precious memories of their own.
I have since given the old double barrel
Belgium to my eldest son. However, every time I go quail hunting
I still remember my first quail hunting experience. One might
state that the razor strap made a lasting impression. By the way,
in less than two weeks after the quail hunting expedition, I was
again carrying the old shotgun , with shells, but only shooting
meadow larks, rabbits, and a few skunks (yet another story about
my days as a Trapper). You know, for some reason PaPa didn't have
to remind me more than once that his government quail were off
limits for me and old Dawg.
Story
1 "All Fish Are Trout & There Ain't
No Catch & Release".
Story
2 "Quail By The Hundreds, & Temptation's
Calling".
Andy's
"Home Page".