By DAVID HARRIS
NR Writers Group

Christmas is special. We celebrate the birth of our Savior, bond with family, overeat and spend too much money on gifts. Once upon a Christmas I mixed a duck hunt, a Chesapeake and my boss, a move not endorsed by any of the three wise men.

Chesapeakes are great retrievers who live to hunt. Devoted companions, they do their own thinking but are often found lacking in certain social graces. Thus was the case when I decided to invest in some yuletide brownie points with my boss.

That morning, we motored up to Seven Creeks on the Waccamaw River. It being a close-quarters hunt, one must be quick on the draw to down a wood duck there. Being used to the spot, I quickly dropped one and Abbey, the devoted Chesapeake, made a prompt retrieve. As she sloshed in, wetting the boss’ near-perfect vintage shotgun, I identified three glitches. Problem one: I had shot a duck and my boss hadn’t. Problem two: the morning hunt had abruptly ended. Problem three: I had to do something to remedy this, and quick.

Reverting to the outlaw tactics of my youth, I decided to take the boss on an illegal, unethical but exhilarating and usually productive jump shoot.

For you non-hunters, a jump shoot is when you drive a boat stupidly fast in order to flush ducks from the water ahead of you. The speed of the boat makes the ducks appear to be standing still in mid air. As you can see, it is a recipe for disaster for those in your boat and anyone else who happens to be near.

Abbey, concerned that my recklessness would endanger us all, pondered a hasty resolution to this nonsense. Standing on the bow of the boat directly in front of my boss, I saw her devilish grin appear. Moments later, I watched in horror as she lowered her hind quarters toward the floor. My world began to move in slow motion as I let go of the throttle, probed for the non-existent brake pedal with my foot and screamed “NO, ABBEY!”

Then, the yellow liquid flew – literally. As it hit the deck it was caught by the wind, whizzing down my boss, his vintage shotgun and all of my Yuletide brownie points.

Young hunters beware. As you contemplate a little Yuletide bonding with your company hierarchy, use good judgment. Don’t let your hunting companion dampen your Christmas cheer, or your boss.