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co-written with David Cheung Originally appeared in Golden Words.

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The following is an excerpt from the diary of noted German big game hunter Franz Guber. Franz died tragically last year of buckshot-related injuries. His diary, which he kept with him for all of his many hunts, offers a glimpse into the mind of one of the world's most prominent and knowledgable hunters.



September 17, 1996

12:05 PM

Have just arrived at designated hunting spot. This place has come highly recommended from friends of mine. It is called "Disney World." I have never heard of this place, but my friends assure me it is the happiest place on Earth. I can only assume they mean the hunting here is spectacular.



12:45 PM

Hans has suggested we sneak into this Disney place through the back, as we don't want to scare off our prey. I am inclined to agree with him. The front gate looks congested with other hunters anyway. We have agreed to hunt now, and settle our debts up with the conservation officer later. Morale is high. Klaus says he can smell the ducks. My mind is alive with the thought of shooting something small and defenseless.



1:15 PM

The first sighting! Our prey is a plump duck in a blue, pantless tuxedo. Children gather at his feet, apparently feeding this succulent target. Klaus has started drooling in anticipation, much to our displeasure. We motion the children away. This is no place for the young, or the fearful. This is a battlefield, a place of honour. I must keep my senses alert and stay strong. Rations are holding out.



1:34 PM

Eagerness on Gunther's part has led to tragedy. Oskar lies slain at our feet, little more now than two stumps poking out of leather military boots. In our haste to bag our oversized duckprey, we have fallen victim to the mistakes of rank amateurs. Gunther, avid to bag the mighty duck himself, threw caution to the wind and lobbed a grenade at the feathery beast. The grenade bounced off its beak, like the beak itself was made of rubber! Oskar caught the bomb without thinking. We mourn his exploding. However, our zealous assault on the plump bird allowed for no hesitation. We will miss Oskar. He was carrying the sandwiches.



2:47 PM

We have tailed the duckprey to a place promising a variety of fried chicken dishes. We follow and construct a crude bunker out of cafeteria trays, where we can sit. And watch. And wait.



2:49 PM

To our horror, the duckprey has consumed two of his fried brethren! We find his cannibalistic tendencies alarming. More disturbing, however, is the fiend's method of consumption. Before devouring his victim, he reaches a feathered mitt into his neck and peels his face off, revealing a hideously deformed, brown haired skull. Our group admits a general ignorance of this sort of behavior. Except for Hans, who prattles on about having seen this kind of thing while hunting the Northern Yeti. We find it best to ignore Hans. The duckprey scuttles off while we sit arguing about Hans being full of shit.



5:12 PM

The duckprey continues to elude us, despite our best efforts. It appears we have underestimated our foe; a mistake we can ill afford to make again.



September 18, 1996

Today we see a common layperson trying to engage in conversation with the duckprey!! This place is a madhouse. I find myself questioning my sanity on a regular basis. As do the others. Especially Hans, who's really getting on my nerves.



September 19, 1996

7:00 AM

An early start to the day. We break our fast with steaming bowls of porridge, cooked with rainwater and hand-picked oats. But… no sugar! This does not bode well. Sucrose levels are dangerously low.



9:13 AM

The last of my talcum powder is gone. I expect chafing in the horizon.



11:00 AM

Wilhelm has bought an effigy of the duckprey, in the form of a T-shirt. It is my fervent hope that this will give him the strength he needs for the upcoming chase. Chafing is now a bitter reality.



11:01 AM

Tragedy strikes! Klaus, coming back from his morning constitutional, mistakes Wilhelm's effigy for the genuine article. He opens fire upon what he swears is the "attacking duck." Curiously enough, he uses only head shots, which all agree is strange, given that Wilhelm's visage is only mildy duck-like. Klaus hides his grief well, seeming oddly exuberant. I suspect he is merely putting up a brave face. Wilhelm has long been a friend of Klaus's family. Particularly his wife Olga. They will miss him dearly.

We shed a single tear for poor fallen Wilheim Moonterbotten, before the sensuous croon of the hunt again calls us yonder.



11:15 AM

Gunther has spotted our prey feverishly scratching at a metal tag on its back that connects to a long thin metal strip. We suspect it is a tapeworm, the poor beast. The duckprey soon senses our presence and waddles off. We quickly give chase.



12:34 AM

We have cornered the duckprey in a large glass dome. It is trapped, and I relish the taste of its fear. This dumb beast has proved to be of high intelligence for its breed. During the course of our stalemate, the magnificent brute actually tried to ape human speech! The duck's resourcefulness is proving greater at every encounter. The sounds were primitive, animal-like, but undeniably human. I have recorded several of the duckprey's attempts at speech:

"Luk, I joost wurkheer. Imina costoom. Wydu yuukceep shutingatme?"

"Fuggof! Sthop shuu tingahtmi, yuubha stirds!"

I have exhausted most of my canteen, and must find a stream soon. The water tastes like bitter ashes in my mouth. The time to finish this hunt is upon us. We whisper words of strength to each other under the noonday sun.



1:45

The duck has proved craftier than it first seemed. It has escaped our trap through a back door we did not see. Hans has examined its dung and found traces of taco meat; "It tasted Mexican," he assures us.

We are all weary now. The duckprey has eluded us once again, and our rations are getting smaller as hours stretch into days. Perhaps it was only my imagination, but I thought Hans had examined the dung with particular relish.



September 27, 1996

12:47

Ten days on the hunt, and the plump, tuxedoed duck has disappeared without a trace. Our rations have long since expired, and we have been forced to find alternative means of nourishment. This morning Gunther shot a large rodent in red pantaloons. I was not proud to dine on vermin, but with present conditions being what they are, I choked down the rancid meat. Surprisingly, it tasted much like chicken.



2:34

Tempers are flaring as failure continues to dog us. Gunther dropped the last of the mousemeat into the fire, inciting the rage of our entire camp. Reflections were made as to the nature of his parental ancestry. Gunther cried, and we apologized later.



2:47

We are tired. The duckprey is killing us. We must win soon.



3:16

SUCCESS! We tracked the duckprey to a place called "Employment Headquarters." Once inside, (Hans let us in through the back with a cinder block), we found a menagerie of game! Ducks, chipmunks, even miniature elephants! Our guns blazed, the barrels glowing. Our prey, obviously unprepared for an onlsaught so close to their natural habitat, were hopelessly overmatched. They fought back valiantly, their teeth and claws gleaming, but our metal was mightier than their bone. Some tried hiding in lockers, as if the primitive intellect of a beast was a match for our razor-sharp minds; our bullets easily pierced the thin metal.

Of the hundreds slain that day, I will always remember the look of the duckprey, before I personally delivered the killing shot. More vain attempts to mimic our speech were made. We stood, stunned, listening to this dumb animal strain with the rudiments of language. It was a richly moving experience, and one that we will always treasure. We felt truly close to this beast, and a bond of friendship between the hunter and the hunted crystallized in a way that no one in that room could deny.

We shot it once in the chest, twice in its legs, three times in the left wing, and once in the head. We emerge triumphant! A good hunt, for certain. Our trophy kills were surprisingly easy to stuff. Next year, we will embark to a place called "The Ice-Capades." Klaus, for one, is eager for a winter hunt. I am inclined to agree with him.