My eyes roam around the lake, and over the paddocks. “I don’t know . . .” We both turn in a full circle as we search.
Completely peaceful.
“I don’t see any ducks,” he repeats.
With hands on his hips he looks over the valley. “Umm . . . EJ?” he calls.
“Yeah,” I call back.
“Is that your land over there too?”
I look back to see that he is looking over paddocks to the right of the house. “Yeah.”
He narrows his eyes as he focuses on something in the distance. “What’s it doing?”
I walk over and look to where his gaze is. “What is what . . . ?” I fall silent.
There’s a huge, black sheep, but it’s a different kind of sheep, with curly, round horns. We watch as it walks backward, takes a hard run-up and then head-butts the fence post as hard as it can.
We hear the bang as it connects; the sound echoes for miles.
“What the fuck is that?” I whisper.
“I don’t know.” Christopher frowns as he watches it run back and smash its head as hard as it can. “Some kind of psychotic sheep.”
Our eyes meet. “What is this godforsaken place?” I whisper.
Suddenly we hear squawks from behind us, and we turn to see the ducks running toward us up the hill, full throttle. Their wings are in the air, beaks open and ready to attack.
“Run,” I cry as I take off in the direction of the house.
“Ahh, fuck,” Christopher cries.
I grab the keys from my pocket, the sound of angry ducks coming up close.
I look down at the keys on the overcrowded keyring. “Oh no.”
“What?” Christopher cries as he runs alongside me.
“I don’t know what key it is.”
“How can you not know what fucking key it is?” he cries.
“The car. Run for the car.”
We dive into the car and jump in and slam the doors behind us. The ducks all squawk as they circle us.
“You weren’t kidding.” Christopher pants as he holds his chest, looking down at our attackers. “What do we do now?”
I start the car. “We get the hell out of here.”
We eat lunch, drink some beer, and devise a plan. Two hours later we head back up the driveway. I glance over to see the trusty shovel we bought sitting perfectly on the backseat.
I park the car and hand the house keys to Chris. He frowns as he looks through the keys. “Do you know which one it is at all?”
“I think it’s one of the copper smaller ones, though I can’t be sure.”
He nods. “The coast seems clear.”
“Hopefully they all drowned in the lake,” I mutter as I look around.
“What’s the plan?” he asks.
“I’ll guard you with the shovel, while you get the door open.”
“Okay.” He goes to get out of the car and then turns back. “Don’t slam the door.”
“Good thinking,” I whisper.
We all but tiptoe up to the porch, and Christopher quietly begins to try the keys, while I stand with my back to him, shovel in hand. Waiting for the attack.
“Hurry up.”
“What are you going to do if they come?” he whispers as he fiddles with the lock.