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Two fathers and two sons, prepared their hunting gear. They'd looked forward to this trip for some time,
had waited for the youngest lad to reach the right and proper age; the ripe age of sixteen. He could now join the others. as
men, deep in the wilderness. The older ones would teach the younger, to be hunters. Hunting
season, short as it was, was the time of year when men could get together, away from the hustle
and bustle, and their boring city lives. Sitting down at the desk tapping a computer keyboard, or assigning
tasks for meanials to preform. Also, there was school work for the young, still striving to establish
themselves in society. This would give men the opportunity to bond.
An age old ritual of death, blood, and the hunt. They, would be predators, seeking prey again. Like their ancestors long ago, they would teach their
young to be men of the hunt. After, they would then sit around a fire, relay stories, of past hunts,
stories embellished with time, grown obese and terrifying with age. An attempt to show great prowess, to scare the young.
One father barked orders to his son; the other, to his. Supplies, were checked and stored quickly in the
USV parked in front. The eldest man, broad grin smoothed wrinlkes on his face; blue eyes sparkling in
early mornings twilight, as hints of the sun traced orange across low clouds to the east. He stood,
supervised. Silver grey well cropped hair covered his head, a stern countenance showed only a morcel of deep wisdom hidden behind his eyes; to the others, he was guide, and mentor, and chief.
His
father had taught him when he was young. Having made these trips more often than the others,
warranted the position of overseer, making sure everything was just so. The youngest brought out a
fresh sandwiches, it would be a long trip, they'd picnic along the way, probably camp overnight midway
to their destination. The youngest, pasted basket of sandwiches to him, turned to get more supplies.
The overseer took a sandwich, placed the basket on the front seat of the vehicle. It vanished in two
bites; he returned to his check list, licking a bit of mustard from the corner of hie mouth; his wife was a
great cook; could that be the reason that he had married her, one reason, he loved her the other.
With every thing loaded, a rev of the engine, yells and waves of good bye to the women left
behind, they were on their way. Rolling down the drive, made a right turn, and were out of sight in
seconds. Excited, wide eyed, the youngest's face, in a wide smile from ear to ear, bounced and jostled
as the drove along. Red curls bounced up and down; he watched every way at once, his head on a
splindle. Questions flowed forth, quicker than the fathers could answer; each son having question for
their father in turn. This would be the best trip they had ever been on; the youngest had missed all the
rest; this being his first. The other son having been on several with his father, had fewer questions, but
excitement still sparkled in his blue eyes. He spent more time reading the map in his lap, though,
answered some questions asked by the younger, before his father could. Both father glowed with pride
and excitement, they'd looked forward the "this" trip, over 14 years.
At there destination, and after a lenghty hike into the bush, they made camp; the 2 tents went up
easily with the overseer instruction. A fire area was selected and a fire built. The two son went about
collecting wood for the fire, and made a neat pile off to one side. The two father dragged two short but
sturdy logs close, around the fire infront of the 2 tents. The campsite was shaping up well. The 2 father
bristled with pride, the two sons always wish to honor their fathers, all was ready for the next days.
Sleepingbags were laid down in the appropriate tents and supper was prepared. The silver haired man,
placing his plate on the ground; began a story of his first hunt; the one his father had taken him on. the
two sons listen, not a word or question, attentively. The youngest one was taught the care and proper
use of a rifle; loading, cleaning, and how to hold it. Fathers smiled with pride, even laughed as they
watched, and heard duck call fill the air. All preparations made; in the morning they would get their
small boat into the water. Tucked into their sleeping bags, though excitement kept some eyes open,
they went to sleep early, as to rise before the sun. The hunt would begin, after a swift breakfast.
Once again duck calls filled the air, replied to by others in the distance; their weapons were
loaded, made ready for the coming flock, they blew once more, again the reply. As the birds came into
sight they each chose a duck in flight, shot.
BANG.
They fire almost simultainiously, killing their targets in mid air. The fouls plummeted, splashing in
the water. The two fathers rowed to retrieve the ducks pull all the birds into the boat. Their eyes wide
with glee, especially the youngest; he killed his with his first shot, happiness glowed in his cheeks. Back
at their campsite the ducks were cleaned and placed in a cooler for the trip home. All three ducks lay
limp as they were placed in.
THREE!
How could there be three? I would like you to figure out why there were only three ducks. Remember
there were two fathers and two sons, but there are only three ducks. How could this be?
Try to answer this enigma,
before you check the Answer
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