Dying To Kill Ducks

I got our very early that morning, going to the “Deer Pen Chain” of ponds to shoot ring neck ducks. I only hunted with a Fox side-by-side 12 gauge, so I loaded up with 2 boxes of high brass #6 for ducks and headed out. I also always carried a few 00 buck magnums in case a pig or deer decided to commit suicide.
These ponds were wadable with chest waders, so I donned them, filled the shell pocket with a bunch of shells including the buckshot and waded. Dawn. The ring necks always flew in just before sunrise so I had to get there early and get in place. The water was a little over belly button deep, so no trouble moving slowly. Gun overhead and making progress. In place and the faint whistle of wings and BLAM somebody shoots. BLAM BLAMBLAM. Now I am shooting. One falls then another. They sink never to be seen again. Quiet. I had reloaded right after firing the last two shots and was ready. Whistle - shoot - whistle - shoot until I am out of # 6. No ducks in the bag.But, I still have the 2 buckshot shells.and the ducks still come in. Why not? There, a little to the right. Swing and FIRE. KABOOM!!! The duck explodes and I almost go over backwards. Crap. Slippery bottom (not mine, the pond you pervert). Now it’s really light and the morning fly is over so I head back, thinking later maybe I will jump a few woodies or if lucky a pig. On the way out I step in a hole and go straight down, holding the old Fox overhead. Fortunately the hole was only chin deep. Any deeper and I wouldn’t be writing this, but some old Duck somewhere would be telling about the jerk that drowned trying to kill him. But now the next problem. Waders are made to keep you dry by keeping water out. When they fill up with water they weigh a ton and don’t have a drain plug. So the only way to get out of the damn pond (with no ducks) is to drop the waders to my waste, hold them up with one hand and hold the Fox with the other and walk like a 2 year old with a pants full. The shallower the water got the lower I have to drop the waders. I finally climb out of the waders and drag the bastard feet first to shore.
That was it for me that day. Could have had a sixpak and a steak for the price of the shells, but then where would the story have been?
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