Dear Charles,

The alarm clock goes off and you open your eyes. It's 4:00 am. That's right, I said A.M.! You roll out of bed and the house is quiet. All except for the dogs, who are in their kennels in the den, because it is too cold for them outside. That's right, TOO COLD ... for the DOGS.

But is it too cold for you? Of course not. It's never too cold when there are ducks to be killed. So you, my dear husband, bundle up in your warmest camo gear, make a thermos of hot chocolate, and head out the door.

I'm left in bed alone, wondering why my husband is so CRAZY.

You fight the bitter cold, the wind, the icy water, and for what? The chance to shoot some ducks, and to bring them home where they are slowly overtaking my freezer.

But you LOVE it. You're happy when you're out there in that bitter cold with your friends. And it won't surprise me, if in the years to come, it's not just you, my crazy husband, who's up at the crack of dawn for the chance to shoot some ducks, but my little boy, as well.

And I'll be snuggled all warm in my bed, sleeping, because it is, after all, 4 o'clock in the morning, which if you ask me, isn't morning at all. It's night ... the middle of the night. And while I love you, my dear husband, and love spending time with you, I think I'll just let hunting be your thing, because I have absolutely no desire to be up in the middle of the night, in the cold and wet just for the chance to shoot some ducks.