The early morning fog begins to burn off as the groups anticipation dies down. Settled into the weeds and shadows they sit and wait. The echoing of quacks from down around the bend travel up to the waiting ambush. The sun begins to break over the horizon and the group knows that the gaggle would soon be on the move. The calling between the members of the gaggle can be heard clearly now as the flock moves up along the river. Hands shaking with jitters as the unsuspecting victim approaches from the north. With target in site, the order is given.
Guns drawn from along side
Target in the cross hair
And with down feathers floating though the air, the success of the ambush is known.
The flock scatters through the side yards and the hunters head for their cars and dart away.
The injured Goose brushing its self off takes flight only grazed in the opposite direction.
Near the river in the middle of the street lays an unintended target. A young Duck fatally wounded, only 16 years of age on his way home from choir practice. Still dressed in his slacks and dress shirt wearing his down feather winter coat.
Only now with a 9mm hole left in it and no future thanks to an early morning ambush.