Long Story - Each year at our house there is usually a present under the tree not only for the dog, but also one from the dog. Well, this year the dog got my wife a nice monogramed Vera Bradley handbag (a.k.a.-one of them quilted flowerdy pocket books) but to my amazement there was nothing under the tree for me. When I questioned the duckmutt in total disbeleif that my number 1 hunting buddy wouldn't take care of his gunner my wife had that "Aw crap. I forgot" look on her face. I told the blackdog that it was alright and that he could just bring me a banded mallard on our Christmas week hunt.
So we start hunting the day after Christmas. Very few big ducks, but teal are swarming the bayou like mosquitoes. Second shot into the hunt my firing pin goes "clink." No boom. Broken firing pin.
My buddy shoots a few birds then hands me his gun. The other two guys hunting with us on the other side of the bayou are grinding em up and we end up with 4 man limits in short order. Fun shooting and good work for the dog. Next morning we are all hunting together and shoot a few teal but noticing some bigger birds in the sky are holding out for big ducks while gobs of teal rip through the decoys.
Mid morning-one lone greenhead keeps circling. Finally, he lowers his altitude, my buddy calls him on in and finishes him off with the "paralyzer." When he gets just outside the decoys the guys either side of me unload on the bird and I get in a good pop as he's flying away from us (once again with a borrowed gun), the bird crumples. Questioning who did the bird in, they say I did. I asked again, "Are you sure it was me?" Response was, "Yeah, you took care of him with that last shot."
I send the dog after the bird. The wind is whipping so the bird is moving away pretty fast. Blackdog apparently didn't get a good mark on the bird and is perplexed by the low water checking every little stump and stob past the decoys thinking its a duck floating. I blow the whistle, give him a few casts in the right direction, he's still trying to figure it out on his own. Blow the whistle again, a little nick from the power steering unit and he finally gets his mind right, follows the cast, and fetches up the bird. When he wheels around to start heading back to the boat I notice a little flash. I ask again, "Yall sure I stroked that one?" Heads nod in agreement. "Good cause I think he's got a band." Bout that time blackdog hops over a log with the bird in his mouth and the red leg drops down revealing a band gleaming in the sunlight.
Blackdog came through on his Christmas gift! 
I offered to hand the borrowed gun back over, as I didn't need to fire another shot that day and took a deserved razzing of "Oh, now you want to hand the gun back Mr. Band Boy. You lucky MFer." Bird movement was poor Wed. The teal had bugged out, big ducks were scarce, but managed half limits. Thurs. things got right again with biscuit -headed mallets all around. You've got to love life in the Free State!
