There is nothing like waking up to a loud buzzing alarm clock at four in the morning to go duck hunting after you just got home from a football game at midnight. In fact, this is the only occasion where I ever wake up this early. I have been hunting ducks since age eight and plan to do it until my body can no longer take the late evenings and early mornings.
I roll out of bed and look at the time, hoping that my clock lied to me and I can sleep for another hour. Quickly I find out, to my dismay, that my clock is in fact not wrong, but right on time. I reach for the snooze button, but decide against it knowing that my grandpa is probably outside already eagerly waiting to go. I roll out of bed, walk downstairs, and into my dad’s room where I discover that unlike me, he hit the snooze button.
“Dad,” I whisper, “Dad, wake up.”
“Alright alright, quit nagging me,” he replies.
Walking to the kitchen I hear the bathroom door close and the shower turn on. (He always takes a shower, though I don’t understand why he needs to smell good in a duck blind.) I open up the bread bag and start preparing sandwiches for the days’ hunt. Today we will be going to Tilson Creek, a spot that has always proven to be filled with birds.
I pack the days’ food and drinks into our cooler and head to the entry way where I see my coveralls, boots, hat, and gloves waiting for me on the table. I slip into my gear and head out to the garage where our gun safe is. As I open the safe my nose tickles as the sweet smell of gun powder discharges from the safe. I grab my Benelli Nova shotgun and my box of shells and head to the end of the driveway where my grandpa has been anxiously waiting, “For the past twenty minutes.” I load up the gear and hop into the back seat as I watch my dad hobble out of the door in full gear.
Looking out the window on our way to the creek I see nothing but pure darkness, an almost calming effect. I start to doze off in a deep sleep when my dad wakes...
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