Herbert hat den Weihnachtsmann besucht:
Und passend dazu:
A Christmas Poem for Duck Hunters . . .
natürlich nur SPASS!!!
Merry Christmas to all…
‚Twas The Night Before Duck Season and all through the land,
not a waterfowler is sleeping, nobody can.
The decoys are washed and the shotguns are ready,
but most folks just hope that their dogs will be steady.
And I in my Gore-Tex thinsulate cap
had just settled down for I hoped a short nap.
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter
the dog sprang from my lap (UGH!) so see what was the matter.
Away to the kitchen she flew like a flash.
Tore a hole through the screen and barked through the gash.
The moonlight glistening off the freshly fallen dew
allowed me to tell it was some one I knew.
It was my hunting partner who drove my dog so insane
and he whistled, he shouted, he called her by name.
From the door of the truck to the walk up the steps
and with a great clunk into the kitchen they crept.
He was a great big camouflaged neoprene elf
and I laughed when I saw him in spite of myself.
We spoke not a word but went straight to our work.
Loaded dogs, decoys and big-wheeled garden carts.
As he cinched the last strap he turned with a jerk and thrusting an arm
down deep in his pants
he said, „thought I’d forgotten my stamps“
As dry leaves before the hurricane fly,
well that describes our early morning ride.
We arrived at the marsh long before it was light
and a lone whistle from above let me know things would be right.
We stood at the tailgate and talked for a while.
About dogs, decoy patterns and calling styles
But then it was time to go our separate ways
as he was hunting the long blind, about a half mile away.
But I heard him exclaim as he walked out of sight
„Good luck one and all, hunt safe and hunt right“.