Smart-ass grandfather or hunting for ducks

One of our fellow lured our friendly hunting company at the opening of the autumn hunting duck in an unfamiliar place to anyone, we - one of the many ohotbaz on lakes near the capital of the glorious republic. Kupivshis on stories about the flocks of ducks, covering the sky, we quickly packed up and rolled on the ohotbazu, somehow placed in a large log cabin with bunks along the walls and a big stove in the center among others who wish to probe the strength of local game. To clean conscience ran down to the lake, make sure that there is indeed a duck, sitting not frightened, looking at us with kind eyes, it does not fly away. They returned to the house, quickly cut appetizer, poured into cups and began to get acquainted with the local community, however, without fanaticism, since four in the morning begins the hunt.
So, ten minutes to four, I was already at the room, I scratch hangover unshaven chin ezhus from the morning chill, look at a flock of bloodthirsty kryakovyh within the direct shot. We are waiting, sir. ... And then is heard from behind, so to speak, an ominous rattle. Cheerleaders, I looked around my druzhban standing by me thirty meters on the other side of the creek, duck wrinkled and spun Bosko. Kusherov pushed his way through the coastal classic grandfather - God oduvan pulling for a small truck-sized children on sled creaking kolёskah. Santa came close (no tears will not look - old sweatshirt, inside-Krolikova cap with ear - a classic smear, only forty years in retirement.) Grandfather:
- Guys, get well, I've always hunted, but that, I feel, in my last season, not hodyut legs, hands haul, feel, will not survive the winter already. Let me take the first shot, the one of all, take heart.
Well, we, animals or something.
- Come on, Grandpa.
The first suspicion arose after grandpa pulled out convolution on a trolley real fuzeyu - faceted barrel caliber - crawl through the hand, the charge is clearly half a pound of powder and shot glass and quickly sent it toward the instrument of ducks, not suspecting what an ass waiting for them. And at the same moment on the shores of the lake I went cannonade - four hours on waterfowl hunting season opened.
Zhahnul and grandfather. My eyes opened, like the owl, stretched over the globe - DUCK BAY perished ALL !!! Although I suspect that half the banal heart attack. But we have something that does not help. A smart-ass grandfather suddenly stopped dead, smartly unrolled bog shovel and climbed out of the water ducks, about which a moment ago I thought as their own. Skidan them in a sack and was gone. Bitch.
... It is late morning, with trophies in two fucking random dives, I went back into the house. People already going, proud bat duck gradually drink, eating. Send stories. And told me about his grandfather designed. Local old-timers for a long time me bellow - the grandfather before each opening of the season for ten years comes to a quarter of an hour before the first shot of the lake, choose non-native hunters (ie. A. Which locals from afar sent), and expounds his story with his swift dying shot and dying. And because he always prolazit - what a psychologist ...
Health to you, grandfather, if still alive.

--img2--