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Posts tagged ‘4×4’

Dead ducks

It was a big weekend: the opening of duck season. There were days of preparation: oiling and polishing guns, stocking ammo, building mai-mais, exhuming camo suits, and applying swear words.

Check out this TVNZ’s Close Up segment to learn more about what The Men got up to over the weekend, although without the extreme bonding, arse footage, loaded coolboxes, pin-up girls, 4WD waterskiing, and nakedness in jacuzzis (The Outlaws do not have a jacuzzi).

Although Husband denies attempting to surf across the creek on a blow-up doll, I noticed some jittery eye-contact between him and Brother-In-Law upon their return.

Thankfully, the males of the family do not subscribe to the theory that alcohol and loaded shotguns are a top idea. At least, they may have a nip before going out, but in fairness whisky is about the only way to kick-start the system at 05:30hrs.

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After the main event followed by an artery-nuking barbeque, we brought the puppies Jed and Lottie down to the creek. They are too small to retrieve ducks, but we wanted to accustom them to the sound of gunfire.

At the first volley of shots, Jed and Lottie flattened their ears and charged back to the truck, occasionally stumbling over their tails tucked between their legs.

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Brother- Stepfather- and Mother-In-Law stalk their prey. I was reminded of Mother-In-Law’s terrible ability to snuff out a life in an instant.

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Husband faces setting sun.

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L-R: Jed, duck carcass, my arm

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No shotgun required: Ajay scares the ducks to death . . .

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. . . as demonstrated.

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Plucking.

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Jed digests a feather

Trip down sandy lane

Being back in Dubai felt entirely surreal. It was unsettling arriving at the airport and not having a place of our own to go to. Raff and Carole donated their apartment on The Palm, which was tremendously comforting since we stayed there before leaving Dubai last year. The only thing missing was Raff and Carole.

Our flight landed at 05:30hrs. Carole had left the keys with Liz, but I felt it would be antisocial to collect them before 07:00. Liz seemed entirely dubious about our credentials. She gave me a personality test and I had to fill in a questionnaire, and even then she wasn’t convinced. Eventually, Husband distracted her while I robbed the house-keys.

Helen came around on Friday morning for a swim along the beach, and Em on Saturday. We also caught up with David, Wayne and Keren, and Mark and Sarah. There’s not much I miss about this place, but our friends top the list. Even though there are only two other things on that list (swimming in the Gulf and shower hoses on the toilets, in case you were wondering), friends represent about 99% on a weighted basis. It was fabulous seeing everyone again.

As bodily by-products go, I am a big fan of vomit and particularly like to bring it up over dinner. Not often literally, because that doesn’t go down well. However, my friends reminded me of a rare wee related experience.

Some years ago, Husband and I were on a desert drive with a group of friends. When the convoy paused for refreshment, I experienced a compelling urge to externally process some earlier refreshment. So I set off to find a private spot.

I tramped over dunes until I was out of earshot; then I hiked until I was beyond visual range; and then, because I am prudish, I trudged another few kilometers. I stumbled across the desert, under sand banks, over Wadis and through sandstorms. Eventually I found the perfect place in a dip between two sand dunes, shielded from gusty squalls and/or rogue camels.

Seconds later, I was busy composing a comprehensive response to the call of nature, when I heard a noise. I’m thinking:-

“What the-? That sounds like – no, it can’t be – but if I were pressed, I would have to say that sounded suspiciously like a car booting along at 180kph.”

I would have continued to assume it was the aural equivalent of a mirage, except that it seemed to be getting louder.

Then three 4x4s thundered past at 180kph, at which point I realised I was crouched next to a stonking great six lane highway waving my arse in the air

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