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 I was too busy trying to put an elk-hair caddis fly on a size 16
just beyond that big smooth rock on Lewis Creek. I know there's a
big rainbow trout in that hole there, you see, and there is nothing
more important, on a May morning like this one, than enticing that
big rascal into delivering himself to my waiting hands.
But Doc noticed that Dud had laid his fly rod down in the bushes
and was doing strange things with his hands. Finally, Doc got my
attention, pointed to Dud, and we both stopped fishing and walked
over to see what our longtime pal was up to.
Dud would look around in the air, then make a one-handed grab at
the air. After several grabs, he'd take two fingers of his other
hand, put them in his clenched fist and wiggle around. Then he'd
smile and open his fist and look in the air again. Doc and I looked
silently at each other, wondering how long it would take from our
day of fishing to get Dud delivered to the nervous ward in the city.
"Dud," said Doc, "how's the fishing?"
"Huh? Oh, hi. Not fishing right now, Doc. Experimenting."
"Experimenting?" I said. Of course, I said this automatically,
forgetting for a moment how time-consuming it could be to start Dud
explaining things of a scientific nature.
"Natural selection," Dud said, proudly. "Survival of the fittest.
Yes, I decided to spend my morning in Darwinian pursuits, making the
world a safer place for mankind."
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Doc looked at me. "He's talking like that again," he said.
"Well, Doc," said Dud, "you, of all people, should be able to
appreciate what I'm doing. After all, you're a man of science and a
healer. I'm going to rid the world of dangerous diseases. Observe."
Then Dud made another grab at the air, and this time we could see
he was snatching a mosquito out of the air. Again he used his other
hand to do something to the mosquito, and then he released it.
"I'm pulling out their drillers," Dud said. "I figgered if I pull
out enough drillers, then sooner or later two drillerless mosquitoes
will get married and have pups and then we'll have a family of
drillerless mosquitoes here on Lewis Creek. Without drillers, they
won't be able to pass along yellow fever or malaria to fishermen."
Doc looked at him in a strange way. "Dud, there's never been
anyone get malaria from these Lewis Creek mosquitoes."
"See?" Dud said, brightly. "It's already working."
[Text from file received from Slim Randles]
Brought to you by "Sun Dog Days," a novel by
Slim Randles. Check it out at
www.unmpress.com. |
