An American hunter was having very bad luck out in the woods near Kitchener, not bagging anything. After five dismal days he finally shot at a duck and saw it fall far off. He tramped through the bush and found it had landed in the back yard of a home in the middle of nowhere. He climbed over a rail fence and was about to retrieve the bird when Schwa looked out his window and saw the wet and bedraggled hunter. "What are you doing sir?" Schwa asked the hunter. "Gettin' my duck," said the Yank. "Well now I figure it's my bird, seeing as it's in my yard," says a bemused Schwa. "Oh God!" said the Yank, "I tracked over miles of awful bush, was lost, hungry, tired, soaked, you name it. I shot this bird. Can't I just take it and go?" "Wellâ€, says Schwa, who didn't like big smart Yankee hunters much, "tell you what I'll do. We'll fight for it." "Fight for it? You kiddin'?" asks the Yank. "I'll give you a sporting chance," says Schwa. Here's the rules. One of us bends over and the other kicks him in the arse, real hard. Who ever kicks the farthest gets the bird. Deal?" The Yank figures he's bigger and has a winning chance, so he agrees. "I'll go first, seeing as it's my yard," says Schwa. "Bend over, boy." The Yank complies. Schwa halls off and boots the hapless hunter, sending him face first into a manure pile. He splutters to his feet, wipes his face off, then says, hopefully, "Okay, your turn." Schwa scratches his head, contemplates, then says, "Nah… you take the bird and go, I don't like duck anyway."