It was the end of one of those weeks but not a Friday evening to be spent indoors. The weather was too balmy, the westerly breeze too perfect. The ducks would be sure to be flighting. It was an evening to try for the bird for the Sunday table. "Get us a brace" said my wife, as I left the cottage with Angus, "We owe the Mackenzies a meal." Before long we were down in the reeds by the lake and after a wee bit more there came a mallard, quite high. I pulled, she fell and Angus ran after her. While the sky gradually turned a rich gold colour I watched him rustling back through the pale reeds, and he as proud as the gundog he thinks he is. Perfect it was, but no more birds. Until, after a while longer, a whole flight of them in a perfect V. I raised to pull, fixed and only watched as they hushed gracefully over the lake, now golden too. Angus looked at me, puzzled. "One's enough, and time for a dram" I said. Besides, I thought, I never did much like the Mackenzies. Edradour …enjoy life's small victories.