Get me out of here. I can usually leave quickly, I just have to clear the branches above or lift off the ground into the open air. I am out of reach instantly. The snapping dog and buckshot miss me. I QOK and tell everyone. Most times I perch on a felled tree with its stump on land and its tip resting on the sand in the shallow water. Or I stand in the grass on the shoreline, dead still, waiting to slam my beak into the mirror. I sense the current beneath it and then I see my face in a flash as it plunges in. I got a little fish.