Nothing Like the Smell of Duck Hunt In the Morning

I've never felt so connected to my ancestral lupine brethren as I do on a duck hunt in the morning. I, a great wolf knight; hackles stacked on my back I'm half my size again, stalk the duck on the river's bend. Inigo Montoya, my fearless squire keeping equal time,healing my right flank on his little truncated legs. Creeping stealth our long shadows are our companions, seeming to double our army from two to four, no doubt doubling the duck fear when we finally strike down with our mighty claws and teeth.

In concert we wind the upper edge of the bank unseen to our little feathered prey. I suspect floating duck are pods or schools while their kind in flight are described as a flock; I count nine duck head. They alternately hoist their wiggly ends out of the water, tiny orange paddles kicking the air as they nibble at the mossy bits under the glassy surface. We circle wide, my squire has concealed us with the kind of stink that even suspicious ducks would assume wolves would not have on their persons. Our cover is most brilliant and the duck are obliviously swimming to and fro as we size up their old and weak. Hunkering closer still we look like two little mossy rocks near the waters edge, our subterfuge is complete.

Inigo waits my command. Alternately I smell the oil on the little ducks backs and Inigo's cover of stink as the breeze swirls about the shore. In the corner of my eye Inigo readies himself, our breaths are of one. My chin dips like the dropping of a gauntlet. We spring. In unison we break free of our mossy rock disguises and rush the unsuspecting duck. Pebbles and sticks fly from behind our 16 flying feet of shadow and lupine fury, crashing through the water one duck after another fleeing our mad hunt of water, mud and wolf spittle. Chomping at the last duck left to die by it's oily backed water fowl brothers we crash further still into the rushing river; up to our knees and ankles the cold water threatens to sweep us away.

Squire Inigo and I look at each other our feet are wet the water has bite and it seems kinda deep, I give Inigo the signal for retreat. Wolves don't like duck, wolves like squirrels.