A pair of mallard ducks flew frantically above the red tiled roofs before banking sharply towards a large pond. They glided into the calm water agitating its smooth surface.  The male, with a distinct fluorescent green head and chocolate breast pursued the dappled female as she kicked desperately a few yards in front of her determined suitor. A distinguished white heron, startled by the commotion, looked on disapprovingly from the shoreline. 
             
Three hundred yards uphill at the driving range, Ron, wearing a blue windbreaker, wide-brimmed hat, and his favorite Ray Ban Aviator sunglasses stood next to his pushcart. A mixture of clouds floated quietly above him on this cool December morning. Although well into his fifties, he maintained an athletic build and still turned a head or two with a full head of sandy brown hair, graying now at the temples. 
             
During his twenties Ron capitalized on his good looks and made a living as an actor in Los Angeles---commercials mostly, but it paid well. Later, a friend got him a job in the construction industry at the supervisory level. Before long, he was in charge of large subdivisions springing up throughout southern California. Due to a robust salary and savvy investments, he was able to retire early and now enjoyed a gentlemen’s life of leisure that included sailing with friends in San Diego, cocktail parties in Rancho Santa Fe, and plenty of time for his new passion, golf. 
  
Although he played a round with a group of friends earlier in the week, he decided to come out again to his favorite course.  He pulled a new fairway metal out of his golf bag and walked back to the practice tee. It had a shorter shaft and heavier head than his previous club. He dropped a range ball onto the grass, took aim and launched it high into air. He paused for a moment and admired the smooth trajectory. After warming up for 20 minutes, he approached the starter. Carl greeted him with a friendly question, “Back again so soon?” 
  
“I’ll never improve if I don’t play two or three times a week,” Ron answered with his cinematic smile. 
  
“Start on the south course,” Carl directed adding, “You’ll finish up on the north. Good luck.”
  
Ron took his usual short cut across the freshly mowed grass. When he arrived at the first tee, he activated his stylish Garmin GPS wristwatch. On the smooth black screen, white text indicated that hole #1 was a par 3 and the distance to the pin was 165 yards. A simple graphic at the bottom depicted the shape of the green. 
  
He grabbed a five iron, took a few practice swings, and teed up a ball. Ron stood over it, aimed at the white flag waving in the distance, and swung. The ball sailed high in the air and landed short of the green---a little right of center. Pleased with his first shot, he walked briskly down the sloping fairway, pushing his cart in front of him while admiring several homes with inviting patios. When he reached the ball, he grabbed his pitching wedge. Again, he took aim and chipped the ball into the air.  The ball flew in a gentle arc towards the pin and rolled to a stop 12 feet in front of the cup. He exchanged his wedge for a putter and walked across the carpet like surface. Kneeling down, he read the green to the best of his ability, stood up, and gently struck the ball. It came to a stop an inch in front of the hole. He tapped it in for a bogey 4 and recorded the score on his wristwatch.     
  
As he continued, he was pleased with his overall performance and took a few extra shots from time to time. When he approached the seventh green, he heard the growl of a chain saw and watched as a couple of men cut tree limbs into manageable lengths. 
  
After finishing the south course, he walked past the driving range, pausing briefly as a golf cart with two women passed by. The range, which was nearly empty earlier that morning, now had a dozen or more men and woman practicing their golf swings. When he arrived at the north course, he saw a couple standing near the ball washer at the first tee box. An exceptionally large man towered over the woman. Ron approached them, smiled and said, “May I join you?”
  
The massive man looked down on Ron suspiciously. Ron’s good looks and sophisticated demeanor immediately repelled him. But he knew it was common for strangers to join one another on a golf course. He reluctantly responded, “That will be fine,” extending his hand and adding, “My name is Al and this is my wife, Grace.” Ron introduced himself and cautiously shook the giant’s hand. 
            
Ron was immediately attracted to Grace. Try as he might, he had trouble keeping his eyes off the demure, full figured woman. As she leaned over to place a ball on the grass, he looked quickly away, pretending not to notice her and thought, “How could this beauty end up with a Neanderthal like that?”
            
Grace paused briefly over her ball and swung. The ball shot off the clubface hard to the right and rolled close to the out-of-bound marker. Al and Ron hit their tee shots and the threesome advanced down the fairway---Ron several yards behind.      
            
After finishing the first hole, they continued over to the second. The distance to the green on this par 4 was approximately 235 yards. When it was Grace’s turn, Ron approached her and offered some advice on how to hit the driver. She smiled as he gently repositioned her hands on the club’s grip. As Al looked on, he deeply regretted his decision to let Ron tag along. He began heating up, inside and out, as the sun momentarily glared between two drifting clouds.  
            
The third hole was another par 4---a dogleg left approximately 300 yards in length.  One of the hazards was a stand of willow trees on the right side of the fairway. After the men hit, Grace struck her tee shot and it drifted far to the right and rolled into the trees. Ron quickly offered to help Grace find her ball. Before Al was aware of what was happening, his wife disappeared into the willows with the well-dressed interloper. 
      
The pair, alone beneath the benevolent canopy, laughed as they made eye contact for the first time and hunted for the lost ball like two carefree children. Ron discovered the ball lying at the base of a tree and as he handed it to her attempted to steal a kiss. Distracted by one another, neither of them heard the crunch of footsteps on fallen leaves. 
             
The first punch grazed Ron’s left ear. The second connected just above his right eye, crushing his glasses, and causing Ron to back peddle and fall. Grace quickly turned away as Al moved in for the kill. Ron scrambled to his feet, stumbled out of the trees, and began running across the opposite fairway. He sprinted past the pond below the first green and looked over his shoulder. He was shocked at how quickly Al followed. The beast was gaining ground---armed with a golf club. Ron eventually ran through the outdoor café---scattering plastic chairs in his wake. Startled patrons looked up as he careened towards the parking lot. Al roared through a few seconds later like a howling tempest. 
  
When Ron finally reached his silver, late model Mercedes, he fumbled for his keys, and listened for the big man’s footsteps.  Gasping for air and with his hand visibly shaking, he opened the heavy door, jumped into the front seat, and slammed it shut. An instant later, the monster grabbed the door handle and broke it off. He tossed it aside, lifted his golf club and swung viciously at Ron’s head, shattering the tempered glass. Ron ducked an instant before pea-sized pellets rained down on his back. Instinctively, he turned the key in the ignition and the motor roared to life. Ron shifted into reverse as Al’s enormous paw grabbed him by the throat. Ron stomped on the gas pedal and the car lunged backward, tossing Al to the asphalt. Dazed and bloody, he picked himself up and charged again. As Ron flew past, he swung one last time destroying the windshield.  
  
Ron escaped jumping a curb, downing a small tree, and zigzagging towards a familiar stoplight.  He stuck his head out the window as he veered right at the intersection and raced towards I-15. With his car badly damaged and his eye-swollen shut he thought, “That could have gone better. I’d best lie low for a week or so.” And then a belated grin brightened his damaged countenance and he concluded, “She was pretty.”