The Dance
Bob Stein
The sparkling reflection of the sun off the water as I pulled into the landing told me one thing. This was not ideal duck weather. In fact, if it were not for the strong northwest wind, this would be as far away from duck weather as you could get.

It didn't deter me though. This hunt was not about the ducks. Three weeks earlier I had made the gut wrenching decision to put my chocolate lab Mocha to rest. At only 5 years old she had been cut down by kidney failure in the prime of her life. It was only a few weeks into the season and my hunting partner was gone and with her my desire to hunt. This hunt was about moving on. It was time to start healing.

With the gear all loaded I paddled north, into the wind. The pull of the paddle felt comfortable and soon I had worked up a hardy sweat. My destination was a small island that for some reason seemed to welcome me. It rose out of the pond and was covered in small Bur Oak. It was probably not the duckiest spot on the lake, but it was the perfect location for today.

Carefully I set out the decoys, all mallards. I placed the set in a v formation, the point into the wind. Should there be any ducks on this un-duck like day they would work right into the spread and meet up with me on the sunny oak island.
I pulled the boat into the weeds, gathered my gear and sat on the oak leaves that blanketed the ground. With the sun on my face and the wind at my back, I found my mind wandering. I lay back on the moist ground and soon the thoughts and memories of past hunts filled my mind.

Suddenly it was there, the hollow feeling. I knew exactly what it was. It was the same feeling I get when going to bed and having no brown dog come in and curl up at the foot of the bed. There were no ears to scratch or whining dog to shush. The extra pair of eyes watching this empty sky were not there.

The wind rattled the leaves of the oaks and sent the decoys dancing on their tethers. It brought to mind an old man that I had seen at the county fair. Dancing to the old time music, he moved across the dusty ground, eyes closed, his hands held in the perfect position for a partner that was not there. The music had brought him to this place. His passion for the dance was evident, but without a partner it was empty. Still he danced on, not letting the lack of partner stop him from his passion. It was exactly the same reason that I sat on this sunny little island. I needed to feel my feet moving again, to dance again.

Time passed and the sun drifted across the sky. No ducks visited my spread. I loaded the gear back into the boat and paddled to the decoys. Carefully I wrapped the chords and weights around the keels and tossed them in the boat one by one, each making a hollow clunk as they found their place on the bottom of the boat. With the last decoy loaded I smiled at how I had instinctively left an empty space at the bow. I closed my eyes and danced one last time.