Duck Hunter

About a block away from where I grew up, there was a vacant lot that backed up to a cornfield. Every time we got any decent rains, the lot would flood.  It was always wet and water would stand there for weeks at a time.  We would spend hours over there catching tadpoles and toads.

One summer, a duck showed up on the pond.  It wasn’t like nowadays where you see a duck or stupid geese at every subdivision and shopping mall in the county.  Back then, seeing a duck in Philo was a once-in-a-lifetime event.  I was fascinated by it, and I wanted to catch it.

I set up a trap that was basically just a 5-gallon bucket with a slice of bread tied to the handle so that when the duck pulled on the bread, it bucket would tip and trap the duck underneath.  Looking back, I can’t believe how excited I was, and how confident I was, that I would catch that duck.

I checked the trap every hour but it never was triggered.  I was convinced, though, that it was just a matter of time.  That night, I wanted to go check it one last time before I went to bed, but mom wouldn’t let me since I had already taken my bath.  I begged and whined, but she wouldn’t give in.  Finally, I asked dad if he would go check it for me, and he said he would.  Awhile later, he came to my room and told me that there was no duck in the trap. :(

One day, when the timing is right, I’m gonna ask dad if he really walked all the way over there and checked my duck trap, or if he just said he went over there so that I’d stop bugging mom and go to sleep.