DUCK HUNTING IN LAS VEGAS WITH UNCLE J – 1996

This next story is not one that I am proud of, and in many ways was disturbing. However, not all of my experiences were about love and laughter. Sometimes I had real world, down to earth normal traumas to deal with. The story unfolds during a trip to Las Vegas in 1996, with Uncle J, Lupe and our nephew, A. Ange, ol’ Bubbaloo and myself formed the other half of the group. Uncle J and I were working together at the time, so decided that we deserved a Vegas getaway. We planned for some touring, a bit of “dice”, a couple of beers and some golf. Ron, at this time, was far too old to travel on family excursions. After being forced into travel all her life, she was now, done with it. Her mother allowed her to stay at home and house sit with her friend Crusty.

Off we went, kids, bags, golf clubs and everything that the women could possibly think of, to get us thru a 7 day trip. Uncle J and I were pumped, and immediately, on arrival, grabbed a few beers and booked our golf. That first evening, we played hard. But early the next morning J and I were up and looking forward to a day of golf in the desert. A little worse for wear, we piled into our rental vehicle and went off in search of our desert golf course. The rest of the party animals prepared themselves for a day at the pool with maybe some serious shopping squeezed in.

The golf course we had chosen was very beautiful, well manicured and up to our high standards. We rented a golf cart, threw our clubs on and headed out to conquer another golf challenge. Things went well, we hacked, chopped, swore and threw some mini fits. Some of you might ask, “why pay money to make yourself upset and frustrated”. Well my only answer is, “that’s just what men do”! The day was passing nicely, when suddenly things went sideways. I remember it well. We had made it to the ninth hole, a medium sized par three, with water on the left. And then disaster struck. After confidently stepping into the tee box, I took a mighty swing at the ball, and connected, somewhat.

My ball took off, about 2 inches off the ground, killing any worms that may have been on the fairway. It howled out about 100 yards and then it struck a duck, that was wandering across the fairway. Poor thing, was just out of the water hazard, and along with a group of other ducks, was waddling along minding his own business. My errant shot was now hurtling along at light speed and connected solidly with the innocent victim’s head. It now flopped down on the fairway and started to flap around and spin in circles. J and I looked at each other in horror. Geezus, what had I done! There was nothing amusing in this. It now became, painfully obvious, that this duck was done. Visions of being arrested by an SFPCA cop, flashed thru my mind. I was stunned!

Because I had spent a lot of my life outdoors, hunting and fishing; the next step was very clear. This poor duck was mortally wounded, it would have to be put out of its misery bringing an end to its suffering. With heavy heart I take out my 7 iron (probably the only club I could hit). We then approached the duck and could see that its neck had been broken. I gave it a few solid, whacks with my golf club. I knew that it was already in its death throes, but I needed to make sure that it didn’t suffer. There was no other choice! It was very disturbing and made quite a mess out of my golf club, my pants and my feelings.There was a significant amount of feathers and blood left around. I felt terrible and looked around to see if I had been observed.

Poor old uncle J; it now appeared, that his breakfast might have been “off”, because he was bent over, behind our cart, emptying it on the ground. Looking back across the fairway, I see two Japanese women approaching us. Geezus, I thought, I am surely in some big trouble! The two, middle aged ladies came up to us, and were quite animated. They were throwing their arms around and speaking in excited voices. I felt horrible and was just about to put myself in their custody, when one of them bows to me. She is saying, “thank you mister for killing the bird”. I was stunned. She thought, that she had hit the duck, and that I had put it out of its misery for her. Apparently, her conscience would not allow her to leave without coming and admitting to, her killing of the duck.

The two ladies bowed a few times more, leaving uncle J and I staring at each other in disbelief. As guilty as I felt, my conscience did not hurt me so bad, that I corrected her idea, of who really hit the duck. I just told her, “no problem, don’t worry about it”. With a shake of my hand, they then turned and departed. I was devastated, and did not forget this incident for a long time. Even now, 25 years later, I cannot see a duck on a golf course, without having a flashback. Many’s the time where I took a few extra minutes over a shot, waiting for a bird or other small animal to move out of my danger zone. Needless to say, that evening, when we went for Chinese food, I did not order the Peking duck. Nor did uncle J, I might add.