The Duck Hunt

I remember one time a few hours just before a stormy night. My friends and I conferred in the small living room and started discussing how we could survive the calamity and its aftermath. We went on talking about how to feed our jobless selves also in the next few days.

Kuya M's monthly allowance from his mom working in Hongkong never arrived on time and we were damn worried about how to sustain our precarious living, stuff our tummies before a cold night sleep.

One of my friends, suggested that we go loot one of my dad’s ducks in the backyard. We heard Kuya M makes the best duck recipe by glazing it with his magical and one in a million combination of tropical condiments. The idea outrightly scared me to hell. Knowing my dad considered his ducks more important than his own children was a thing to reckon with. I remember him count his ducks every afternoon when I was still at home. He'd make sure they were all well-fed and served with the copious earthworms which he had instructed my younger brother to rummage in the softer soils and the decomposing horses' dung in the backyard. I was certain my dad would kill me if he caught me red-handed but the angst ensconced in me towards him masked my fear. I agreed with the plan and just thought, "Que Sera, Sera, Whatever will be, will be."

We went on with the plan just before the twilight had purpled. It was a peaceful afternoon and the entire compound where our house belonged in was quiet except for our dog which momentarily yapped at my friends when we arrived a few meters from the structure through the fenced in backyard of the house. The courtyard fringed with hibiscus then was still commodious before my dad went insane selling every parcel of land he'd find profitable. The earlier weather forecast of a threatening storm might have shoved the people to stay put and prepare for a thunderous din of the night, I thought.

The quietude in the backyard gave me some consolation. It eased my worries earlier but it also sent me a more horrible picture of my what-if's to catch one of the ducks. The ducks seemed intellectually wary of the storm en route as they were gregariously huddled in their open coop but not of our devilish scheme.

With an open, empty sack of rice ready to stow one of them, my friends and I started our effortless duck hunt. I couldn't believe my eyes that in less than a minute my friend was able to catch one and managed to keep it squirming inside the sack. I felt relieved knowing we had worked on the plan without any travails. However, my compunction told me I just betrayed my dad, my family.

The ducks had started cawing loudly and to my surprise their noise didn't create much stir to bring one of my family members outside and witness my betrayal. We left through the small opening in the fenced in yard and fled through the bamboos near the river to make sure none of my neighbors would blow the whistle on our dirty tactic.

The rains had started tattooing on the roof while we were savoring the special meal Kuya M warmly prepared for us on that cold night. It was one of the best meals I have ever had and for the record my dad never found out, or might have he just feigned to send a signal that he had forgiven me?