One of the ducks - a big and mean looking one with a scar across his beak - had the serrated edge of a tin can lid held up against Fido's neck, while two more of his fowl brethren were holding down the dog. As Mitch and Stu stepped out from the reeds and into the clearing, the duck's leader waddled forward.
"Quack!" The duck leader commanded, motioning for the men to drop their shotguns onto the ground.
Stu turned to Mitch. "What should we do?"
"Hold your ground." Mitch growled beneath his breath, regarding the duck with steely eyes.
After a second the leader motioned to his men, and the tin can lid was pressed against Fido's throat, drawing a trickle of blood, and a slight whimper from the dog.
"Mitch!" Stu hissed. "Let's just drop our guns and take Fido home. We can always come back for them later."
Mitch's gaze never left the duck leader. "Do you honestly believe if we do that, they're gonna let us leave here alive?"
Stu hesitated at the sound of rustling bushes. From behind the men more ducks were emerging onto the scene.
"Mitch..." Stu, whispered, fear crackling his voice. "There's too many. We don't have enough bullets..."
The duck leader raised his wing. Something passed between Mitch and the duck, a sort of understanding - even respect. He turned back to Stu and laughed. "What did you expect, Stu?" With that he began to raise his rifle, aiming at the leader.
The duck quacked in rage and swung his wing down in a final command.
Written in five minutes from the writing prompt, "Ducks" as part of the #freewrite exercise. Image is also by me. You can view the prompt here and check out the other entries; not a "fowl" one amongst them (no apologies!). Thanks to @mariannewest for creating and running this quiet and relaxing morning on the lake.