A foggy early morning on the mountain.
I get in my truck to take a ride.
It’s five am-ish. Still dark out.
We live at the top of the mountain, and it’s foggy.
The lower on the mountain I drive, the thicker the fog. I reach the bottom.
Driving about 25 mph., headlights on dim, a duck pops up in my view.
I know this area has ducks. I always drive slower in this area because of the dang ducks. Today, it has slipped my mind.
About 20 feet away is “Daffy Duck.” Crossing the road.
“Shoot,” —I didn’t say, “Shoot,”— I see “Daffy” and swerve to the other side of the road.
I quickly look in my mirror to see if I see any feathers flying around.
It’s so foggy out that I wouldn’t be able to see feathers if there were any.
I drive to someplace where I can turn around and go back.
“Dang, duck! What do I do if I hit him?” I say to myself.
“Do I carry the dang thing to their house? Just holding it in my arms. Its limp head just hanging.”
I turn around.
“Maybe I didn’t hit the thing.”
I drive back slowly.
“Look for feathers, Lynn.”
I pull up beside the pond that the duck lives in and see the duck swimming in the pond. “Quack!” he says to me as I stop and look at him.
“Quack! Back atcha you idiot! You almost made both of us have a really bad day!”
And I drive on.
