Posted: December 5, 2013 in Uncategorized

The sky was purple-gray, mostly gray, as the sun did its best to rise between the bare branches of the woods that were so lively and loud in the summer time. Now the only noise, albeit louder than any naturally produced, was the booming of the rifles as the bullets spiraled their way out and with luck into the blood and meat of fowl that crashed to the ground painfully and lifelessly. The other ducks would quack a very plaintive, almost calm sound as they tried to get as far away from their death as they could. Perhaps, our hunter thought, this is what led to their destruction becoming so commonplace. They didn’t howl or scream or kick their feet like other prey, they just disliked loud noises and when wounded, died quickly, without much in the way of struggle. Some certainly did, when hit in a non-vital area, but a wounded duck has little options in the way of escape or defending itself.


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