–Season 3 Episode 33— “An Early Christmas Miracle”
With Shorty Short on the move and heading in the direction of the boathouse…. This gave Tawny the sense to quickly inch toward the corner edge of the stone firepit, violently scraping the tie strap binding her legs against the sharpness of granite. Within seconds her legs were free.
“Knife—Knife—I need a knife,” she calmly queried.
“Boathouse!” snapped Rusty. “I me-me-mean fish….” And before he could finish fish cleaning house, she was sprinting toward the structure.
Flinging the door of the shack open she immediately located a Hudson’s Bay trade knife. This was a cherished tool of her Anishinaabe community. The carbon blade, wooden handle—she could dice through a walleye in twelve seconds—it was an extension of her hand.
Racing back to the firepit she flung herself back into her chair half of a blink before Shorty Short glanced over his shoulder to check on the captives. It would take “An Early Christmas Miracle” for Flathers and company to take back the island.
Charles Wildrice Lilienthal III (aka Chas the local pain in the ass Canada goose) was the cock of the flock. Was he inherently brash? YES. When Charles THE Third hissed…. His down-covered compadres paid attention. Example: recent run in with Clint Beakwood.
Chas and Clint Beakwood, “Beak” for short, had been at odds over a particularly flirtatious goose who had recently joined the flock through a friend of a friend of a cousin twice removed. Regardless of how she arrived—she was stunning—short tail feathers—pearl white cheek bones—she was a full-on spicy fowl package and very much enjoyed playing the part.
Well, as it happened…. There was a mid-morning preening session in which Chas and Beak were both peacocking for Trixie McWaddle. And this was post-fact when Chas had already made his intentions quite clear to Beak that he was planning to properly court Ms. Trixie.
The notorious HISSSSSSSSS for which Chas was known? Yes, it happened. And it happened in a blink. Beak was circling Trixie…. Chas somewhat politely asked to cut in…. There were immediate feathers ruffled…. Chas hissed ONE-TIME…. A last chance warning. And in the next second Beak had his name changed to Snubnose—Never to honk again.
Chas’ bill was razor sharp. His eyes were locked on target (Shorty Short). Flying toward the boathouse at Mach1 speed, with dozens of members of the flock on his webbed heels, he performed a marvelous snap roll and closed in for the attack.
“I need flight support on my 11-oclock and my 1-oclock, lock it in, now!” he commanded.
But Shorty Short was ready. He was still facing the firepit, eyeing his captives, and saw the aerial onslaught coming his way. Then he took aim with his Glock and unloaded his magazine on the lead bird.
Chas flanked one—twice—as bullets whizzed past with alarming closeness. “Tighten the formation!” he ordered.
But it was the final squeeze of the trigger…. The last chance bullet…. A wildly low percentage shot that had his name.
Link watched from below as the head shot unwound the goose’s flight path. Chas was dead and didn’t know it. He was flying straight up, toward the heavens, and then he wasn’t.
Shorty Short watched as the bird folded and began its descent. But he never saw his target hit the ground. Thanks to Hazel and the same oar that busted up Too Tall’s kneecap, her second victim beat Chas to the green carpet of grass.
“IT’S OVER!!” Hazel cried out and dropped to her knees. There was blood streaming down the lobes of Shorty Shorts ears. She would later take him to the adjacent island near FSFO, drive four spikes in the ground, cinch down his arms and legs, and allow Chas’ following flock to pluck him apart.
Also, in Chas’ honor, she later embraced the goose in her arms and promised to roast him for Canadian Thanksgiving with a baste of Domaine de la Romanee-Conti. Arguably, this is the most prestigious Pinot Noir in the world; it holds a market value of $100,000+ per bottle. For Hazel… He was worth every penny…. And she fully intended for the billing to be covered by the Royal Australian Navy (RAN).
As Tawny made quick work with the knife, cutting Rusty-Cos-Ellie loose from their restraints, Link nearly spun himself into the ground barking uncontrollably in earnest to get everyone’s attention.
Finally, Rusty queried, “What is it Link?” And then all eyes watched as the dog ran out to the dock and launched himself off the decking into the lake.
“IT’S SALLY!!” Tawny answered. But Rusty was already on the dead sprint in the direction of his air born British Labrador puppy.
With Link doggy paddling on the surface and barking in the direction of Sally’s location, there was zero hesitation in Rusty’s dynamic water entry. Canadian diving judges would have scored it a perfect ten. The Chinese are always coming in a bit lower at nine-point-five.
Reaching bottom, some thirteen feet below the surface, he scanned the area and then retreated to the surface for air.
“She’s not down there!” he exclaimed to Tawny and Cos. “She’s not there!”
“Look under the floating dock,” Tawny ordered. “Look between the billets.”
Ellie was now on her own mission. Weapon or no weapon she was bounding her way toward Hazel Brown (Friend? OR Foe?) who was still on her knees with head hung, lungs gasping for air.
“Just who the hell are you!?” Ellie demanded and shook her drooping shoulders.
But Hazel was in shock. She had succeeded in taking both Too Tall and Shorty Short down, but now she couldn’t breathe.
“Last chance Brown! If that’s your real name!” shouted Ellie. And then she took a slugger’s stance with the same oar previously used on Shorty Short and prepared to stride (hands-hips-legs) into a home run swing.
Hazel slowly raised her face–tears streaming down both cheeks–then took her Glock-19 from the small of her back and handed it grip end toward Ellie.
Still unable to speak…. She then mouthed the words to Ellie, “I’m Eagle Three…. Always have been…. Always will be.”
–To Be Continued—