Let’s Talk About Ducks

That phrase will no doubt cause many of my fantasy football compatriots—including my two grandsons—to get a wide-eyed and fearful expression upon their face. And, I must admit they would be justified in so doing. If by chance any of that group is reading this, you can relax; I’m not going down that road. Yet! For those who have no clue what I’m talking about, rest assured, you will one day be treated to at least a small sampling of the “tails” of the mighty duck slinger clan of yesteryear.

This story is about golf… and a duck. It took place down in Edinburg, Texas a few years back when we were visiting Sherry’s son James. The weather was nice, there was a course in the development where James had bought a house, so he invited me to play a round with him. We were on the third tee-box when disaster struck… the duck.

Yep. If you know anything about golf, you know that if you score one under par on a single hole it’s called a “birdie”, and if you score two under par on a single hole, it’s called an eagle. Who knows why they named those scores after birds. On this particular day, I got a “duck” on hole number three.

Before any of you PETA-files get all bent out of shape, let me assure you I did not intentionally kill the duck. I, typically cannot hit an area fifty yards wide and three hundred yards long, much less a little black duck that happens to waddle across the tee-box as I’m beginning my downswing with an over-sized driver.

James was standing behind me, and just as I started the club’s downward motion, he said, very quietly, and—given the circumstances—employing superb golf etiquette, “Oh crap.”

It was just enough to cause my concentration to waiver (yes, I’m blaming James for the duck’s demise) and the result was a screaming drive that never got more than three inches off the ground. It hit the poor puddle-paddler right in the head, and the unfortunate fowl simply fell onto its side. The waddler was wasted.

I won’t tell you James had a laughing fit that lasted for the next two or three holes, because that would just make you hate him more. It was, as you may recall, his fault the duck met its waterloo.

For the remainder of the afternoon, I was haunted by a question… why hadn’t the duck ducked?


  1. Sherry Mashburn said

    At least it was quick and the duck didn’t suffer

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