Duck Hunting!

[Chuckwagon]

Now listen here, Duk!
The last one to tease me about my magnificent mustache had to have his elbow surgically removed from... Now, don't make me use UPPERCASE you... you... you shifty, shady, foul fowl!

And what now... it's been two days... what is your twisted, and devious DukQuack mind conjuring up now? What foul and sneaky, devious, scheme are you planning next?

Would you like to learn how to juggle 6 sharp meat cleavers all at once?

[el Ducko]

Would you like to learn how to juggle 6 sharp meat cleavers all at once?

Sure! Wouldja show me first, though, so I can see what it's all about? (Hint: it's all about how rapid the rapid first responders respond rapidly.) Here- - catch!

Um... Chuckles, ol' buddy...??? Can you hear me...? Yer not supposed to catch 'em quite like that. Maybe we should have started with fewer. ...say, four or five. Attaboy- - don't try to sit up just yet.

[Chuckwagon]

OOOOOOoooooo you... you... you....... Duk!

[el Ducko]

OOOOOOoooooo you... you... you....... Duk!

As you no doubt remember, some of our forum members recommend applying sheets of moistened collagen to cover the places that have been opened. You know- - casing bursts, knife pricks and the like. Let me just swab on a bit of this here "Triple-S Tartness Tincture and Tonic™©®" (a.k.a. "Stuff that Stings and Stinks") and we'll...

Uh... Hey...! Who woulda thought thuh guy could run a mile in less than four minutes, in his condition? Of course, that unexpected 6,000 foot drop-off, just around the curve, really helped his time quite a bit. He was still picking up speed, just before impact...

[grasshopper]

Not to give El Ducko fodder But who do you think said this.

just by paying attention to a few "ol' coots" like me.

[Chuckwagon]

Well.... uhhh.... well.... gosh.... well uhhhhh....
Mike... maybe.... uhh... perhaps....

Oh yes... it was a misprint! Yep, that's what it was alright... a misprint. That's my story and I'm sticking to it. A misprint. What it should have read is:
"a few ol' CUTE moderators like me! Yes, yes.... "cute"... not "coot"!
(whew!)

[grasshopper]

I thought so!. And handsome also, with a great mustache. Had to be a misprint, I am a believer. Two mallards are sitting on the ice, which is melting fast. There heads are pointing south and two bald eagles on the west side of the lake watching them.

[el Ducko]

...must have been my mistake. (Sorry.)
Obviously I should have spelled it, not coot, not cute, but (according to my two granddaughters) "cootie." (Eeeewww!)

[el Ducko]

This is Shuswap, Special Reporter for the Canadian News and Muse Bureau...
...visiting El Ducko, Unremarkable Reporter for the United States, Mexico, and all the ships at sea...

...both bringing you the latest, as well as the often overlooked earliest, news from the meat grinding, sausage stuffing, white bread lifting, snifting, and gravy dripthing community. Today we report on a bi-lateral issue which has reached unheard of proportions, namely,

- - > > Where has all the mint jelly gone? < < - -

Your intrepid (or is it decrepit?) reporters and their wives met up recently in New Braunfels, Texas, under a cover story of exploring the Texas Hill Country, looking for bluebonnets. ...and perhaps, sausage and beer. It uncovered a major conspiracy, however, explaining the recent run on mint jelly, North America wide, not to mention tall, too! Using their best investigative tools, the young (well, in spirit, anyway) reporters traced the start of the crisis back to an April 22nd posting on Wedlinye Domovoe, a suspected on-line hangout of the nefarious, hilarious, notorious Chuck " e-Cheese" Wagon and his unsavory gang of savory sausage makers. http://wedlinydomowe.pl/e...ight=mint+jelly

It seems that a recommendation (make that a tirade) was made to, in his words, "find a rope, and build a loop!" This caused an immediate run on mint jelly as people, fearing that either Russians or people from Utah would sweep in like locusts, occupy all the grocery store aisles which contain mint jelly, and declare them autonomous provinces of the no-longer-extant Soviet Utah. ...uh, Union. Shepherds, tending their flocks by night, took up pitchforks by day in an attempt to protest the move. Asked his opinion, a spokesman for the group said, "Baaah!"

And not only that, but bluebonnet season was just about over. In their cover assignments, our faithful reporters and faithful wives saw limited numbers of the blue beauties, some Indian Paintbrushes, and a number of cacti in bloom, then retired to Fredericksburg to compose their thoughts and calm their stomachs over sausages, cheese, and beer. Later, after a sumptuous meal of more sausages and more beer, our weary yet wary reporters, wives, and camp followers (assorted Hill Country deer, raccoons, foxes, armadillos and such things as like to dart across the road at night, occasionally successfully) retired to their various hiding places.

...but they had noticed, throughout the day, no sign of mint jelly in Naeglin`s, the German bakery in New Braunfels. ...none at the Woodcarvers` Exhibition at the Civic Center. ...no mint, let alone jelly, to be seen in Landa Park, not even near where the waters from the aquifer bubble up to form the Comal River, which in turn joins the Guadalupe River to form the Gulf of Mexico.

Similarly, a trip to Cooper`s Barbecue for smoked brisket yielded no mint jelly, although everyone enjoyed the brisket. (No jalapeños were harmed or killed by the Canadian contingent.) Following a visit to the Devil`s Backbone area and a sample showing of bluebonnets in the yard at El Ducko`s Galactic Headquarters, the team dispersed into one car for the journey to an undisclosed, secret location north of Johnson City where the best bluebonnet displays are known to occur annually. Sadly, we were about two weeks too late, and few bluebonnets and not a bit of mint jelly were sighted.

So, Dear Readers, we`ll be in touch again shortly. The Canadian team promised to write, the US-based team did too, and we avoided exchanging addresses so there`d be no Christmas card obligation. Amid hugs and cries of "Oh, Yeah? ...but we know where you live!" we bid, or was it bade, or maybe boded, a fond adieu, whatever that is, just like old time reporter Lowell Thomas used to say, and Team Shuswap drove off into the darkness.

SUMMARY: WD- - What a great website for making friends and exchanging ideas!
...and arranging meetings for smoked brisket and sausage.
Oh, yeah- - and beer.

[el Ducko]

In Which CW's Skills With Grub(s) Are Examined

Well, kids, internet service wasn`t real great, way back then. In fact, out here in the west, it ain`t real great now, either. It was pieced together by telephone cooperatives who charge more because there aren`t very many customers per square mile. What`s more, because they`re telephone cooperatives, ya gotta subscribe to telephone service before you can have anything else like internet or home security or cable television or water. ...or, come to think of it, waste water, air...

Well, ol` Chuckwagon, beady-eyed ol` coot that he is... er, (sorry. I fergot.) Make that, beastly-eyed cute... uh... Anyways, ol` Chuckwagon done figgered a way around this. First, ya ride to the nearest discount bulk-buying outfit, and among the bacon and beans, you buy a hotspot. ...or is it a hop stop? ...not really sure. Anyway, it`s portable, just the thang for a cowboy or duck who`s on the go in the most modern of ancient lifestyles, whatever the heck that is. (I heard that one on a TV ad, seems like. ...`for those who think young` or some such.)

"Whatcha doin` Ducko? Ya been mighty quiet lately." We were sitting around the campfire, on our trek back home after dropping off the cattle at the railhead. I was pounding on my internet-enabled notepad tablet thingie, hoping that it might produce a decent keyboard. (...no such luck.)

"...got this website that I like to follow. They have a forum about sausage making. ...lotsa useful stuff."

Chuckwagon looked over my shoulder and laughed. "...ain`t figgered it out yet, have ya, Duck?"

"Yeah. Come ta mention it, some of this stuff sounds mighty familiar." I scratched my head. "It`s almost like a life within a life within a life. You know- - like... a..." I groped for the word. There`s probably a literary phrase for it but, having a mind like a steel trap, mine is rusty.

"So, what didja learn today?" he asked.

"I think I know why you`re so cheesy," I wanted to say, but didn`t. If you look where I was looking, http://wedlinydomowe.pl/en/viewtopic.ph ... e96d#25835 , there`s a list of possible reasons why he`s so cheesy. These things pertain to people, too, I suspect:

1. Microbial contaminants either growing during fermentation or post-packaging.
2. Use of spoiled raw materials (meat).
3. Poor sanitation post-processing.
4. Chemical contaminant.

...and poor sanitation would sure be a cause. On the trail, we sometimes don`t bathe for decades. (...and did I mention the dust?) ...how to put this delicately, so as not to wound his delicate ego (as well as my delicate hide)? Maybe if I just pointed to the screen and said "Looky here!"

"...screen`s all covered with grime and paw prints and nose prints. Lemme see that thang, an` Ah`ll wipe it off. Hey, PeeWee!" he yelled to one of the other guys. "See if ya can clean this here piece-a-junk off for El Ducko, okay?" He gave my tablet a toss, PeeWee went out for a long one, it caught the wind, and... Well, we could see a glow in the distance, but we couldn`t tell if it was the glow from my tablet or the lights of town.

"Sorry `bout that, Duck. Tell ya what- - Ah`ll make it up to ya. How `bout a couple-a these here sausages? You kin have first pick."

Now, you have to realize that I had been reading recipes for some of the fancier and more expensive sausage variations. I`m not real sure that I can eat two hundred bucks worth of sausage at one sitting, although that up-coming "Beluga Caviar and Truffle" sausage recipe which, sooner or later, Ssorllih or RedZed or Sawhorse Ray is going to publish, might fill the bill. ...make that, MY bill. ...or maybe something made of ingredients from Australia, where from Crustyo44`s writings, it appears that everything costs about fifty times what it does here on the plains of wherever we are now.

But I`m game. (Yikes! ...a double entendre! ...one which, for ducks, might prove fatal. Quick! Change the subject!)

"Okay, Chuckles, ol` buddy, whatcha got this evening?"

I was doubly careful, now that we were on the return trip. I had earlier fallen for the promise that "Yeah, quit-cher complainin`. Instead of jerky, we`s gonna have biltong fer a while."

Well, I didn`t know what biltong was, so when the dust died down a little bit, I looked it up on the web, brushed some of the dusty webs out of the way, and read (in part):

Biltong is a variety of cured meat that originated in South Africa. Various types of meat are used to produce it, ranging from beef and game meats to fillets of ostrich from commercial farms. It is typically made from raw fillets of meat cut into strips following the grain of the muscle, or flat pieces sliced across the grain. It is similar to beef jerky in that they are both spiced, dried meats. The typical ingredients, taste and production processes differ, the main difference being that biltong is usually thicker (from cuts up to 1" (25 mm) thick), while jerky is rarely more than 1/8" (3 mm) thick. Also, biltong does not have a sweet taste.

The word biltong is from the Dutch bil ("rump") and tong ("strip" or "tongue").

...pretty good when eaten as a treat. ...not full-time, if you get my drift. But, "drifting along with the tumbleweeds," as the song goes, I didn`t catch on for that "while" that he keeps talking about, usually preceded by the word "long.".

So I decided to front-load the expectations. "Hey! Isn`t this Hungarian night at the friendly local grub wagon?" I asked cheerfully. "I LOVE Hungarian style sausages. ...especially smoked ones with lots of paprika. Whatcha got, ya ol` coot... uh... ya cool goat... uh..."

"Bacon and beans, Beak-face. ...or wouldja rather have beans with bacon?"

"I signed up for the 'Cadillac cruise,' I`ll remind you, ya ol`..."

"Bacon and beans, comin` up!" he said, and started dishing up a plateful out of the cast iron pot on the fire.

"Hey! Wait a minute! I paid good money for the extra treatment," I reminded him.

"Yer right, Kid," he said. "Forgive me." ...and he put a slice of stale bread on the plate. "Enjoy."

"Naw. Lemme show ya," I said, reached for his notebook computer, and called up the link for csabaii at http://wedlinydomowe.pl/en/viewtopic.php?t=5245. "This one`s great. I can personally vouch for this one, and I`m not even Hungarian."

"Yeah???" he says. "Lemme see the voucher."

"It`s an expression, ya ol`..."

"Got some in the back, here. Ya want some, Duck?"

Hmmmm. That`s more like it. I grinned. "Sure. Thanks. How do you say `Thanks` in Hungarian, CW?"

"...sounds kinda like `Shut up an` eat them beans,` " he said. "...any more questions, direct `em to the management."

"Hey, wait. Aren`t YOU the management?"

"Yeah," he grumbled. "Write me an email with triple carbon copies."

"Huh? You can`t make carbon copies of an email. Besides, no one uses carbon copies anymore. The `CC:` business is just traditional."

"Guess yer outa luck, Duck. Next!"

I took my plate of bacon and beans, poked the bread down a bit so it wouldn`t blow off and let the dust in, and slinked over, cross-wind, so I wouldn`t have to sit the smoke as well as the dust. There were a couple of guys already there. I sat down on a log beside them and said, with a grin, "...enjoying your dinner, Gentlemen? Is the sauce piquant to your liking? The waiter will be by, shortly, to refresh your cocktails or to perhaps take your wine order. ...compliments of the house, of course."

They looked at me like I was daffy. Being a long time admirer of my childhood hero, Daffy Duck, I was of course pleased. I settled into place on the log, close to the fire, and started in on my grub.

"Yikes! ...grubs in my grub!" one of `em yelled, and the rest of us started looking frantically through our own plates of food.

"Hey, don`t worry," CW replied. "Ya doesn`t hafta worry about grubs in yer food. Ya has ta worry about HALF-grubs in yer food! Haw haw haw."

This didn`t help a whole lot, as you probably can figure. We looked around for places to toss the stuff.

"Hey, ya bums, don`tcha realize that this here is nutritious food? Ya wouldn`t want me ta serve ya something that wouldn`t support life, now, wouldja?"

He had a point. I`ve eaten fast food before. I sighed, faked a yawn, and said, "Well, fellers, I think I`ll turn in early tonight."

"Don`t let thuh bedbugs bite," ol` CW said, cheerily.

"Don`t worry none," one of the guys whispered to me as an aside. "He done caught `em all, already, an' cooked `em."

[Chuckwagon]

Uhhhhhh.... ya want to repeat that Duk?

Geeeeze.... you are ONE SICK QUACKER! Have you been flying into walls again? Or is it just green, mint jelly? And just what do you mean by...

Well, ol` Chuckwagon, beady-eyed ol` coot that he is...

Coot? Coot! COOOOooooot? Just who are you calling a coot? Why, you.... you... Delierous Duk! Why you... you... forlorn fugitive from a feather factory! OOOOOoooooo!

[el Ducko]

In Which Duck`s Destination is Revealed, Over CW`s Objections
It used to be, back in the old days, that you would make your bed beneath the stars, unhindered by light from any source whatsoever except those which God put in the heavens. The full moon was almost as bright as day, it seemed like, and the new moon would quickly sink in the west leaving little except starlight.

With rural electrification programs, however, came the lights of communities, out on the horizon, and a growing number of highways. The howl of the coyote and the screech of predator meeting prey at night gave way increasingly to the sounds of distant cars and trucks and the bright beams of headlights challenging the darkness. ...and other lights and sounds of civilization encroached, too- - the sound of railroad diesel engines with air horns displaced the puff and hiss and whistle of steam engines. The chuff-chuff of "one-lung" engines on oil pump jacks lifting crude to surface tankage, the generators and lights day and night on oil drilling rigs, the tractor or combine out in the fields, distant jet airplanes overhead at all hours where formerly the drone of propeller-driven aircraft could be heard once a day if at all.

...and there was also another sound, a combination of a rustling, drumming, thumping sound that none of us could quite place. You couldn`t always hear it, but it seemed louder near highways, especially those under repair or construction. Sometimes it seemed louder, as in when wind and rain swept down on us. At other times, in the stillness of the night, the sounds were there too, but in a more subtle way. This strange sound had dogged us all the way to Kansas, and was now seemingly following us on our way southward and home, especially at night when no one was looking.

"By the way, Duck," ol` CW asked, one morning after a few more of the hands had departed for their home towns along the way, "how far we goin`, anyways?" He stretched uncomfortably. He wasn`t sleeping well, either.

"Home for the winter," we hands had always told him, and that`s what all the guys who had already "dragged up" had done. So far, counting the mass exodus at the start and the continuing attrition as those of us who had signed up for the return trip traveled onward, nearly three quarters had drifted away, followed by shouts of "Adios!" and trails of dust. Now, it was down to CW and us last hardy few.

"I know I done got yer signature, and I know you gotta be livin` SOMEwheres along the way, but ya never told me where."

"Yeah," I said. "Sorry. ...grateful for the company, though."

"So...." he said, this time a bit more forcefully, "whar does ya winter, Duck?"

"You`re going with me, right, CW? After all, that`s what the paper that you and I signed said, according to my lawyer."

"Your LAWYER???" CW squawked,. "WHAT lawyer?"

"...remember Bernie?" I asked him. "...tall, skinny dude with thick glasses and beady eyes. ...couldn`t see very far worth a darn, but up close he was really good."

"Yeah. ...not much of a cowpoke, but he hung in there."

I nodded. "Yeah, he`s like that. ...senses money like you and I sense sausages cooking over open coals. In fact," and here I licked my lips, "isn`t it about time we stopped for lunch?"

"...always thinkin` with yer belly," CW said, shaking his head. "If`n ya spent half as much time doin` that and twice as much time workin`..."

I chuckled. I had heard the same spiel many a time.

"But seriously, Duck- - where do ya winter? I figger we oughta be purty near there by now."

"...little town named Castro," I said.

"...Castroville? ...like in Castroville, Texas? ...shouldn`t be too much more."

"Nope. It`s on an island."

He knitted his eyebrows. Given that mustache of his, it looked like his face had all of a sudden been overrun with hair, and I laughed.

"Don`t laugh at ME, beak-face," he said. "Ah knows eggs-zactly whar Castroville is, and it ain`t on no island."

"Is too."
"Is not!"
"Is too!"
"Is not!"
"Is too!"

He frowned. "...and thuh name-a this danged island IS...???"

"Chiloe," I said. "...like in Chill-Oh-Way."

He thought for a minute. "Huh...?" He finally replied. "Never heard of it. Wherezat?"

"...easy to find, CW. You fly south, and you keep on flying until you pass over Santiago de Chile. You keep on going south until you reach Puerto Mont, then you turn and head west until you hit Chiloe Island, then you bank left and keep going until you arrive at the south end of the island. ...good place to stop for sausages, Castro is. Now, as for me, I usually keep going south about... let`s see... San Rafael Glacier is about..."

He gulped hard. "That`s gotta be... uh... about a thousand million miles from here. Duck, Ah ain`t takin` ya THAT far."

I reached back, dug into my saddlebag and was about to pull out the signed paper when...

Well, you can imagine. There were additional sounds added to the trail, that day, most of them at top decibel by a certain mustachioed wagon driver, but me an` my lawyer, Bernie, had ol` CW over a barrel and he knew it.

...and that, my friends, is how I suddenly realized what those OTHER extra sounds were. You know how, during the summer, traffic barrels get set out all over the place, and by the time fall comes around, they look like they are taking over? Well... they are.

Those plastic suckers move around and reproduce at night. Mostly they multiply in the dark of the moon, but once there are enough of them, they don`t worry about even that. By the time of the first killing frost, there are so many that they start making their own potholes to mark.

The orange-and-white ones are the worst. The big ones are mean- - they will jump out and bite your car if you don`t watch where you`re going. The smaller, conical ones, try to jam themselves up underneath your car, and occasionally one will slip under there and open up your oil pan, just as easy as...

Well, just as easy as getting the last laugh on ol` CW, no matter how wiley he thinks he is.

[Chuckwagon]

Suuurrrrrre! El Duckarooo clicked on the advertising box at the bottom of the page. It was for "Zoosk" Behavioral Matchmaking. He listed his name and address. Then he wrote in his email and telephone number. Next, he looked at the boxes labeled M and F next to Sex. He didn`t check either one! He wrote in "yes please" in both boxes! He`s not a duck! He`s a toad.

[Chuckwagon]

Winchester 12 gauge double-ought premium shotgun loads... Keeping pesky ducks off your lawn since 1886!

[el Ducko]

In Which el Ducko and Chuckwagon Find Themselves In A Compromising Situation
...not sure what little town it was in, but it looked like a scene out of "Gunfight at the OK Corral." On one side, ol` CW stood, ready to fight. On the other stood I, el Ducko, not exactly quacking, er quaking in my boots, nosiree, but... Ya see, I had a solid contract in my saddlebags and a lawyer on the sidelines just in case I needed to press my point.

"Aw rat, Duck! Let`s settle this here thang, rat now. Ah AIN`T a-takin` ya all thuh way to the other end of Chile. This here`s ta git ya home to yer winter quarters. When it`s winter here, it`s summer south of the equator, so the deal`s off."

UhOh! He found a loophole. I looked over at my lawyer, Bernie, who was on the sidelines, over in the section reserved for my team. There were a few other ducks over there, but... hmmm... most were over on the CW Team side, and they looked confident, too, the pesky...

"Point of order!" Bernie called out. "Utah was only settled in the 1800`s, whereas Chile has been inhabited since the stone age. Clearly, Chuckwagon cannot define winter season as pertaining to Utah standards, because back in the stone age, Utah did not exist."

All eyes turned to the judge, but there being none (he having taken refuge in the saloon), there was a confused look on everyone`s face. Part of the crowd on CW`s side got up, milled around a bit so it wouldn`t look so obvious, and deserted that side, coming to roost on el Ducko`s side. They obviously hadn't heard of the Anasazi in the Four Corners area, a group even older than ol' Chuckwagon. The crowd was about evenly split, now.

But ol` CW had worked this particular line of work for many a year, in contrast with a certain greenhorn, green-headed mallard. "It`s a standard contract, signed by many a cowboy for many a year. Legal precedent goes to the holder of the signed contract."

I gulped hard. He probably had me, there. Cowboys had been doing this for many, many years. But Bernie was not flustered at all. I figured that maybe he`d quote some scholarly law book reference, or at least a prayer book reference, on our behalf. The crowd shifted uneasily, again, and all eyes... well, you know.

"If it please the court," Bernie began, and I breathed a sigh of relief. "Please note the type of hat on CW`s head. Now, turn and note the hat on el Ducko`s head." He paused to give everyone time. My hat was a bit different from CW`s. His was a western-style hat. Mine was cut like those that the cowboys on the pampas of Argentina wear. In fact, one so-called friend, upon seeing it, remarked that it was a "Gaucho Marx" hat.

"It should be clear to the court that el Ducko is not from around here, and..."

"...off-planet," CW murmured loudly, and the crowd chuckled.

"...and, therefore, some type of compromise is in order. I move that we adjourn this court to yonder saloon, work out a compromise acceptable to both parties... and then, party."

And so it came to be that ol` Chuckwagon and I sat down, eye-to-eye, wiped the stickiness off a few sticking points, hammered out a couple of compromises, and clinked glasses of sarsaparilla, toasting each other and our new-found working relationship. Somebody spotted crossed fingers under the table, called us on it, and a second round of sarsaparilla was had by all, on the house. Our new workday was shortened to twenty four hours, and our workweek to seven days, and in return Chuckwagon didn`t have to take each of us home and hand us off to our mommies, or some such nonsense.

In return, we got... well, I`m not sure what. Us little guys always get exploited by the establishment, but in the end, these little gains add up to a lot. Someday, we will prevail, but we`ll do it one item at a time, one sausage at a time, whatever it takes.

...and we`d better hurry, because the Old West is vanishing fast.