I sit all day staring at the sky,
Wondering when the ducks will fly.
We call at every passing bird,
Whose path seems to be undeterred.
Sometimes we pray, sometimes we hope,
Most of the time we cuss to cope.
Then out of the clear blue yonder,
Comes a group that does not wander.
Their radar is locked and nothing seems to matter
So we give em’ a feed call, a quack and a little chatter.
No less than 50 was working our spread,
When one lonely suzy seems to fall out dead.
She sails straight down with her feet hung out.
Planning on landing was beyond any doubt.
Now what to do in this situation,
Brings most hunters enormous aggravation.
Do we shoot the suzy, and flare the rest?
Or let her sit and hope for the best?
We decide to let her stay,
And hope the rest don’t get away.
Ask we call to the big group,
Miss Suzy gets suspicious, and flees the coupe.
As she flares and flies away
The others go with her to our dismay.
Phrases come to mind about birds in hand, and lessons learned
But the bag limit was our main concern.
No worries now though about being a waterfowl hero,
Because we will be headed back home with a big fat ZERO.
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