In last week’s
story, my best friend Cris and I had started chasing a fox across a log which
was crossing a flooded creek. (Click here to read Part I)
Of the four of us Truck Gangsters, I was the undisputed
fastest runner, and at about 79 pounds dripping wet, I flew after that fox like
there was no tomorrow. He was fast and snaked though the underbrush like
greased lightning, but I was quick and had every intention of catching him, I was
right on his heels. I was aware of Cris behind me, but my focus was on trying
to outrun and outfox this fox, and for a hundred feet or so I thought I was
going to catch him. My breath was coming fast and the adrenaline was coursing
through my veins like high voltage electricity. Boy, was this ever fun!
Then, in a millisecond, the race ended. The fox and I
came upon a really nasty, thick bunch of brambles and were fighting our way
through, when all of sudden, a big mallard duck jumped up, quacking and
flapping, trying to get free of the same brambles the fox and I were getting
caught up in. The duck was right there in front of me, and he couldn’t get free
of the thick branches and vines. In a heartbeat, I made the decision to give up
on the fox, and catch the duck instead. With one giant leap, with both hands
extended, I left the ground and grabbed the duck around his body, just below
his wings, and held on tight as we both crashed to the forest floor.
Well, this duck had no intention of being caught, and he
was quacking and flapping and pecking at my hands and arms with all he had. I
didn’t want him to peck me in the eye, so I had to hold him at arm’s length, as
he continued to attack me while flapping his big wings against my scratched,
cut up, and now pecked arms. I was getting beat up pretty bad by this duck and
some of the cuts were bleeding. But, there was no way I was going to let this
duck go. I was lying on the ground, unable to get up because I couldn’t use my
arms and the underbrush was too thick to allow me to get my legs underneath me
to stand up.
After doing battle with this duck for a minute or so,
Cris came rushing through the brambles. “Holy Smokes John”, he cried out. “You
caught a duck!”
“Help me”, I cried. “He’s trying to eat me. Look at him.
He’s pecking me to death!” Without my buddy Cris’s help, there was no way I
could have held onto the duck much longer. I was about done for.
Much to my relief, Cris sidled up to us, and gently
grabbed the duck around his wings and folded them back against the warm, plump
body of the duck. “Wow, I can’t believe it John. We got a duck. Look how cool
he is!” And Cris was right. Our duck was a big old Mallard drake with an
iridescent head and neck, with two curled up feather groupings just above his
tail. Just a beautiful creature.
By this time, Cris and I had forgotten all about the fox,
and we started back through the brush toward the log crossing. As Cris carried
the duck across the creek, I knelt down on the log and washed all the dirt,
twigs, leaves and blood off of my arms. My face was a little scratched up too
and my mom was going to be mad about my torn shirt.
Once on the other side of the creek, there was a pretty
good trail and the going was much better than on the other side. “What are we
going to do with the duck?” I wondered aloud to Cris.
“Well one thing for sure, we have to show this duck to
our dads. I’ve never heard of anyone ever catching a duck by hand. They’re
going to think this is really something”, Cris said.
“Yeah, they are going to think this is really neat. Do
you think he will fit in your dad’s live trap?” I asked Cris. “If he doesn’t
fit, I don’t know where we can keep him ‘till they come home from work.” Cris
was pretty sure the duck would fit in there, and we thought it would be a good
idea to gather a bunch of weeds and stuff to put in the cage with him. Because
Cris had his hands full, I picked some weeds as we paraded past my house and
across the street to Cris’s house.
In Mr. Archibald’s shed there was his live trap, and
after I put the weeds in the cage, Cris gently put the duck in there. The duck
seemed a little bit anxious, but not too bad. “Let’s go get Mark and Brian and
show them our duck”, Cris said. So we left the cage in a shady spot under the
lilac hedge and got our brothers. Boy, were they ever impressed with us; we
were the heroes. We got Mrs. Archibald and showed the duck to her too. She was
a little less impressed, but then again, the moms were not really all that interested
in our adventures with the local wildlife.
And of course we had to show off to the little kids; the
Band of Mercy. Jim, Jody, Becky Sue and little brother Chris expressed a bit of
alarm that we had imprisoned this beautiful wild animal and were worried that
we were going to eat it. “Well we don’t know what we’re going to do with him
yet”, I told them. “But we’re going to show him to dad and Mr. Archibald and
they will have a good idea”, I continued.
“That’s right”, Cris said. “It’s not every day that you
hear about someone catching a duck by hand. This is a really cool thing, even
if you little kids don’t think so. You guys need to just stay away and don’t
scare our duck!” With that, Cris and I went into his house and Mrs. Archibald
made some sandwiches for us. We told her about the whole adventure while we ate
our jelly sandwiches and drank our milk. Wow, what a day we were having.
After lunch, we went around the neighborhood and got
Monty Girard and Robby Shimanski and our other friends and showed them our
duck while recounting the story. Our
reputations grew by a couple of notches that afternoon. But, we were most
looking forward to showing our duck to the dads.
Mr. Archibald always got home before my dad, and when he
pulled into the driveway, Cris and I were right there to meet him. “Wait ‘till
you see, dad. You won’t believe what John and I did today”, Cris said to his
dad between breaths. We were still so excited, it was hard to maintain.
The three of us walked as fast as we could coax Mr.
Archibald to go, trying to contain our excitement. When we got to the shade of
the lilac hedge, we showed the cage to Mr. Archibald and exclaimed that we had
caught that duck. “What duck?” Mr. Archibald asked. “All I see is a bunch of
weeds.”
Cris and I were aghast! The Band of Mercy had struck -
and released our duck!!!
* *
* * * *
When brother Jim
grew up a little more, he was initiated into the Truck Gangsters, even though
he refused to quit the Band of Mercy. The five of us had many, many adventures
together and were all fast friends. But our friendships were not to last;
Mark died in a
hunting accident when he was 18.
Cris became a
gifted musician, but was drafted and went to Vietnam. He suffered from PTS
Syndrome and took his own life.
Brian became a
renowned marble wildlife sculptor; but he developed cancer and died in his
early 40’s.
Brother Jim, Dr.
Jimmy the Kid, became a well-known Pulmonologist at Health Partners. Dr. James
Mickman recently died of a brain tumor.
It has been said that
there are no friends like old friends. I wouldn’t know; I’m the last Truck
Gangster.
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