A Hunting We Will Go - Gold

Let me tell you about today.  My brother is sitting here, trying to read my journal, but I am hiding it from him.  I used to hate him and I could have hated him more today, but I have changed my mind.

I collapsed on the crisp shore, sheltered from view by the oak and maple trunks wearing skirts of withering Boston fern.  My brother had told me that, if I made a wish, if I threw the right rocks, the right way, and they skipped five times, that wish would come true.  How many times had I walked down the steep winding road to this shore to throw wish-stones into the water?  How many times had those wishes not come true?  I was beginning to lose faith.

Michael was two years older than me.  He always got to sit in the front seat in the car.  He always got to sit closer to the head of the table when we had dinner.  He wasn’t just the oldest; he was the worst brother ever.  He got to stay up later.  He got his Learners before me.  There was never ever any hope for me to be first in this family.  He always got Boy toys.  I wanted boy toys.  He got to go with Dad hunting.  We hardly did anything together any more.  One thing we did do, when he was basically “grounded”, was come down here to Moose Pond and throw rocks together.  I decided we both wished for the same things and he got them first.  

I picked up a rock and just as I was about to throw it when I saw the splattering of gray spots in the sky.  Suddenly there was the hard sharp sound of a gun.  There was great honking and a splatter of water as geese rose and spread out like buckshot. They careened off towards the distant horizon.  I thought they were safe.  Just then, I noticed a goose hidden along the steep bank across the bay.  He wobbled a little to the side.  There was a bright red flower like the red flower my brother wore on his gray suit for his Grade Nine graduation on the goose’s wing.  He hugged the shadows but left a trail of red behind him.

I jumped up and began running through the rattling underbrush towards the bay.  I would take him home and take care of him.  I would build a pen and when the geese came back next spring, I would let him go free.  I kept one eye out for the hunter and slow down long enough to peer through the brush to make sure the goose was still there.  The other geese began careening through the low clouds and kept trying to land where the downed-goose was.  Every time they came close there was another sharp bark of a gun that sent them flapping away.  I knew I would have to crawl to get to the goose. There was a hunter and there was a muddy bit of shore before the bank where the goose hid.  

I edged through along the edge, suddenly a foot slipped into the water making a slapping splash as I tried to regain my hold on shore.  The goose never moved. My hand hit on a large rock.  I picked up it, made a wish, and threw it kerplonking into the water.  At the same moment, I dove into the water and grabbed the goose that was tying to keep its head above the water.  We were being swallowed whole in the muck.  As I looked for a root to grab hold of there was a closer rustle of dry willows being brushed aside.  My brother’s hand, gun, then eyes:  The eyes of a hunter.  

I would not release the goose.  He had to grab us both to heave me out of the water.  When he lugged me like a water-logged tree trunk from the water, right where he had worn the flower was another beautiful red splotch.  The goose struggled to get free.  Michael gently took it from me, examined its wing, and stepped down to the shore and set it back in the water.  He took my hand and led me back up to the house.  Just as he opened the door, we heard the loud clanking of geese, coming in for a landing to watch over their Dearest Downed.  

Just now, he handed me the controls to his new Duck Hunting Xbox game and asked me if I wanted to do something tomorrow.  I asked him why he wasn’t going hunting and stuck my tongue out at him.  You know what he said?  He said,” I went hunting today and had to give up my goose to save my sister.”  I think I kind of like him, Dear Diary, while I was drying off he bought this game as a substitute for the real thing.  Have to go now.