Two months ago, Todd was rooting around in the storage area above our garage, where everything seasonal is kept out from under foot. Seeing as how the high temperatures were breaking all sorts of records, I figured Todd was in the throes of heat exhaustion as he bumped around among the Christmas decorations and Halloween constumes.
Now, you have to understand this storage space isn’t as caverous as it sounds. Jammed between the joices and rafters, there is just enough room for a six foot tall man, as long as he stays hunched over with his head tucked and his knees up around his ears. Decorations do battle with hockey gear and a snowboard. My boxes of books take up the space beside rarely used bakeware. There’s parts to the pond I ‘un-installed’ over the summer, snuggled up against other assorted stuff.
So when I was about to climb up the ladder and see if he was okay, Todd called down and asked me to catch something. Good thing my reflexes were still functioning, because I got my hands up just in time. A dusty decoy, rigging and all, came sailing out of the dark square at the top of the ladder.
“Already?” I asked myself. It was still summer.
An hour later, and all of Todd’s decoys were spread around the garage, covering every available surface. Mallards, and Canada’s and Snowies. A few brant were sprinkled around like pepper. Weights in a five gallon pail had what looked to be miles of cord coiled around it like a snake.
And, of course, there was Todd, standing in the middle of his flock with cobwebs in his hair and a big grin on his face.
Over the next few weeks, Todd rigged lines, touched up decoys and repaired his waders. He mooned over the various hunting catalogues, and finally bought a new shotgun. He started what I call ‘dog training camp’, getting Storm ready for the season.
Now, Todd’s ready. Tomorrow is the first day of fall.
