Ducks and Doctors

Within each of us is the spirit of the ancient ones. Sometimes the most unlikely person will, for a moment, walk in the shoes of his ancestors for reasons that cannot be readily explained. Usually this will be because of one or more of the three primary directives of the human animal; Nutrition, reproduction, and conquest.

A cold wind blew up the canyon and my feet were happy within the insulated boots I wore. Leather gloves covered my hands in comfort, even holding the cold stock the old Remington .12 gauge semi-auto. It was around 10 degrees that morning, and I was in familiar territory. The doctor, I knew, was not. Frank, the barber, walked in front of me, the Doc just behind, our boots crunching in the frozen patches of snow as we headed for the river. Once there, we huddled in the blind, passing a bottle of snakebite around and staring out at the cold gray sky, waiting for the prey. Frank and I lit cigarettes and made small talk, and although the doctor did not join our conversation, no one was in the least bit uncomfortable. Our mutual adventure was of different people, joined by the ritual of the hunt and the uncapped bottle of spirits.

I was a mill worker from a small town, I lived most of the time outside. Dr. Njos, pronounced 'Ness', was a Norseman trom L.A. He had bought a small private practice in a little town picturesquely located on the edge of the pines where the mountains ease out into the high desert. He didn't really look like an outdoorsy person to me.
Dr. Njos was a great big guy, about 40, with a comb-over and thin stringy blond hair hanging over his ears. He had a bad complexion and a way of blinking too much and peering at a person thru beady little green eyes. He looked like a mad scientist, only bigger. For some folks, I guess he was a little intimidating. I remember it took him a couple of years to get a good clientele going in his office because his appearance was so odd. But his practice was successful, even in a place as rural as this, because he was a good doctor.

I met the doctor the way most folks do. I had come to get an antibiotic for a nasty infection, but even in my feverish state, I was not one to waste a source of knowledge about interesting things. I was big on questioning authority right out of the womb, and I know doctors to be intersting to read about or talk to. I also know Dr. Njos had honed his skills in a big trauma center down in southern California.

"Was it like all those TV shows, down there in Southern California?" I queried.

"No." He was staring at me, his eyes narrowed, and blinking rather fast. It was disturbing. He took a breath and continued as though the words were difficult to pronounce.

"I'll put it like this.....It was an Emergency Trauma Center, terrifying challenges and horrifying routine, difficult to describe, really."

Good answer, I thought.

"Did you like it then?"

"No, not after a little while." Now he was hunched over, making me a prescripion, the pen tiny in his big hairy left hand.

"Do you like it better here?" I was desperately trying to lure him into conversation, but he seemed preoccupied, now staring at the wall, tapping the pen slowly on the clipboard. Even though I was not sure he was enjoying my questions, he hadn't told me to shut up, or even given me what I could recognize as a dirty look. I felt obligated to sieze the opportunity.

"Is there something you can tell me about the big hospitals, something unusual, or that I won't learn from just visiting sick relatives?" He was peering at me again, more like a glare now, it seemed.

He sat up straight, glanced out the door and back, and says:

"In L.A., at least a couple of hundred times a year, people get things stuck in the anal cavity or lower intestine. All kinds of things that are not intended for said orifice. I have found this to be both fascinating, and troubling. Of course, you have probably assumed correctly that most of these individuals have elaborate but weak excuses for their predictament. Is that the type of information you desire?"

Now it was my turn to stare as I registered his answer.
And that was how I originally met Dr. Njos, and that is why I love to talk to doctors.

Months go by and then one day I'm down getting a haircut and Frank asks me if I want to go out to the duck blinds on the weekend.
The doctor wants to go with us, never tried hunting fowl before, imagine that......"

"I've never shot a duck."

"That's because you only go to smoke merch, and target practice with those handguns of yours."

"Oh, yeah. I forgot."

"Do you know Dr. Njos?" He rubbed house cologne on my neck, a clean sting.

"Yeah," I chuckled then, remembering the thing he had related to me at my appointment.
"Very interesting, that guy." 

"Do you think its weird that he wants to go duck hunting?" asked Frank, shaking the hair out of the sheet he had put over my shoulders.

"Only in that he doesn't seem the social type, I figure doctors do golf and drink quality high test, but I don't really know any doctors..... can I bring some weed?'

"No."

"Why not? There will be a medical provider with us if I OD or get stuck in the spirit world."

"Not this time pal...."

"But it's going to be freezing." I complained.

"I'll bring a bottle of Maker's, that should keep you and the good doctor warm and blissful."

"All righty then." I compromised.

I pulled my grubby hat on and headed for my truck.
"I'll see you gentlemen on Saturday then, god willing." I said as I pushed out the door.

A soft whisky glow warmed the duck blind as the day began to darken. The temperature was about 40 degrees. The wind moaned in the tops of the pines outside. Later, some duck came by. One flock, to high and too fast. My companions raised their barrels and let fly the pellets, and then my ears were ringing and the smell of smokeless filled the air. I did not shoot. I never shoot at living things if I am not going to eat them, and I hate duck.

Our eyes scanned the sky, and unbelievably, one duck flailed and plummeted. Now, in the middle of the river where we were at, about 30 yards out, was an island. A little tiny thing, twenty feet wide and about 30 long, just a bunch of boulders holding some dirt aloft in a river running high and fast for the season. A scraggly juniper grew from the rocks defiantly. This was where the collective spirit of the ancient ones decided to land Dr. Njos's dinner duck. A few feathers flew as the cadaver hit, smack dab in the center of the island.

Is that my duck, or yours?" The doctor was squinting at Frank now.

"I would say you shot it all right, but it don't look like you'll take it home!" Frank replied, laughing.

I gathered up loose items and shouldered my backpack. When I stepped out of the blind, the doctor was sitting on the bank, unlacing his Hermann Survivors.

I looked at Frank and he looked at me, no words necessary, just a log pause.......

"What'cha doin' there, Doc?" Frank asked with hesitation.

"I have to go get my duck, there." He pointed across the boiling black water, towards his dinner.

"That might not be a good idea, Sir. That water is very high and cold as the dickens this year." Frank suggested.

"Objection noted." replied the doctor.

He finished peeling off the layers of clothing and waded out carefully to knee depth, and then dove in. My scrotum shrunk instinctively, and I prayed then, that he would just come right back as soon as the shock hit him. I was genuinely concerned that I might have to go in and rescue this fool. And I wasn't sure I was Viking enough for the task.

Witnessing that doctor swimming naked across a freezing river for a lousy duck, and I do mean lousy, and returning with it, in his teeth, sealed in an empty cheetos bag was a unusually cool thing to witness. And that don't even account for the fact that he actually shot it, which was pretty impressive by itself.
But the way he howled and danced around as we scurried over the rocks, carrying his clothes downstream to where he landed was a clear reminder that humans, if not the smartest, were still the most interesting of all the animals in the kingdom.
The ride back to town was long and quiet, interrupted only by the occasional outbursts of laughter by Frank and I and the chattering of the old Vikings teeth.

 

 

Author's Note

Can you see the story? If not, honestly, what does it need.

Reviews

[Raef C. Boylan]

Ok, third read. I think I 'see the story'. The first paragraph is integral [?] The doctor going after his bird is a demonstration of a "walk in the shoes of his ancestors"...right?
I like it, Tony. It's a bit different, original, and both narration and the story are enjoyable to lose yourself in; this rural, American world is a contrast to my own.

P.S.
"a little town pecturesquely located " [picturesquely?]

"He didn't really look like and outdoorsy " [and = an?]

"thin strngy blond hair " [typo: stringy?]

"But he was a good doctor because his practice was successful even in a place as rural as this."
[re-wording suggestion:
But his practice was successful, even in a place as rural as this, because he was a good doctor ?]

"Do you think its wierd that he wants to go duck hunting?" [weird]

Back later.



another P.S. When I first saw your title, I thought 'quack'...is that all me, or a little pun of your own?

[Raef C. Boylan]

Tough questions you ask, and i'm not sure if i'm up to the challenge of answering them.
I'll have a think and come back later. If I haven't, remind me. And I mean it: give me a nudge.

NB: the dialogue in the doctor's place rang very true for me; I struggle to engage doctors in conversation, and I always sense that they think I'm a bit stupid - it'd be nice to feel I could learn something from them in the few minutes we have together.