Stop the Pigeon! Dastardly Dane plays hide and seek

Muttley: still sniggering
 Wikipedia

Come out, come out wherever you are: the gun pokes out of the
hide placed close to the "whirly" decoys

Bang! Jeez, that was a gunshot, and nearby. Bang! Another. Someone's shooting, but what's the target?
No, I'm not at a film premiere, I'm in the countryside on a grey summer's day.
I can't see anyone, so I continue to walk my dogs along a public right of way - it's a straight concrete road built by wealthy farmers and it stretches at least half a mile - through fields near our house, looking for the owner of what sounds like a double-barrel shotgun.

Game, but quiet old birds: the woodpigeon decoys

Again, more shots ring out in quick succession, and this time I see a woodpigeon tumbling from the sky. Then I spot it. Fifty yards ahead, there's a hide. It is well camouflaged and is sited snugly among reeds alongside one of the many drainage ditches which crisscross the Fens.
As I get nearer, I can see a gun poking out of the Army scrim netting and pointing skywards. There are reeds and long blades of grass covering the netting, too. And a few yards away, in a field of barley beaten down by strong wind and heavy rain, a "whirly" or pigeon magnet, with two realistic decoys, flies round slowly, while on the ground, eight decoy woodpigeons, including a "flapper" stand on the ground. They all look pretty real from my position, especially the one which flaps its wings every few seconds, mimicking the actions of a real bird.
Suddenly, a figure appears from the hide. He reveals himself to be a big guy, and I get slightly twitchy as he turns to gaze at me. He's got a gun...and he knows how to use it.
But the momentary fear passes with a smile and a friendly "hello".
I respond with a "Hi, how are you?" and I strike up a conversation with the Fens' answer to Dick Dastardy who definitely wants to Stop the Pigeon! The man's accent is foreign, but his command of English is nevertheless excellent. I ask if the farmer wants him to get rid of what are undeniably pests.

"Steve and Bob allow me to use their equipment and they have permission to shoot here," he proffered.
"I am from Denmark. We can't shoot birds until November, so I take a few days' vacation and come here."
"Really? How many times have you been here?"
"This is the third time I have been shooting here. I like it. This time, I am only here for four days."
"And how many birds have you bagged so far today?"
"It's not been a good day. Only five so far."

Just then, a distinctive and very loud, static, non-lethal gas gun went off in a nearby field and at least 50 pigeons took flight and headed our way ... before circling and landing back in the same place. I like the idea of frightening the birds away rather than killing them, but do they really work? Not on this occasion.

"I was over there this morning, but I didn't see one pigeon," said my new Danish friend. He looked sorrowful."Well, I must be off now. It looks like rain. We've had a terrible summer so far.""Yes, it has been the same in Denmark. I hope it holds off. Goodbye. Have a nice day."

With that farewell, Dastardly quickly disappeared in to the hide and the dark barrels of his gun slowly emerged, again pointing threateningly skyward. Thankfully.
I continue my walk with the dogs - should have called one of them Muttley, shouldn't I? - under heavy clouds and in a stiff breeze, before I again hear shots. I quickly look round to see that he has missed a couple of birds. They suddenly change direction and swiftly retreat from our Scandinavian visitor. Good for them, I think.
The wild Fens were subject to armed Viking raiders many centuries ago. It appears the Danes are still staging raids these days. Bound to ruffle a few feathers, wouldn't you say?
Oh, stop sniggering, Muttley.

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