OH, SHOOT! 



in the small of the back. If the wind shifts or 

 blows up, they sink before the guides arrive. 

 For years I tried to adapt myself to the exist- 

 ing models, but failed. I fasted until my hips 

 narrowed to an AA last; I wore the hair off 

 the top of my head; my body became rect- 

 angular, and still I did not fit. I have had 

 rubber-booted guides stand upon my abdomen 

 and stamp me into my mold, as the barefoot 

 maidens of Italy tread the autumn vintage, 

 but, no matter how well they wedged me in, 

 some part of me, sooner or later, slipped. 

 The damp salt air swelled me, perhaps; any- 

 how, I bulged until from a distance I looked 

 like a dead porpoise, and the ducks avoided 

 me. 



Tiring of this, I had a large box built. I 

 equipped it with a rubber mattress and pillow, 

 and now I shoot in Oriental luxury. But, 

 even under favorable conditions, to correctly 

 time incoming birds, to rise up and "meet 

 them" at precisely the right instant, is a mat- 

 ter of considerable nicety. One must shoot 

 sitting, which is a trick in itself, especially 

 on the back hand, and ducks do not remain 

 stationary 'when surprised by the apparition 

 of a magnified jack-in-the-box. They are 



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