Death of a duck

Years ago, before Discovery Channel and Animal Planet happened. I killed a Ruddy Shelduck in Gopalpur-on-Sea. One of my  uncles had my grandfather's single barrel gun. You load a red coloured cartridge with a certain number on it. The higher the number, the more number of pellets (round bullets) the gun fired. You walk to the edge of a lake or a water body that had a large number of water birds and you fire at the place with highest density of birds and the birds tumble into water that have to be retrieved. If the shooting of the bird appears like a no-brainer, retrieving it is an act of courage. You wade into the slushy lake of unknown depth and long lotus stems that can pull you down and trap you and entangle you. And just when you have reached a nearly dead duck, all it does is waddle one foot and it moves further away from you!
Since, I was young, I was not allowed to shoot the birds. Carry the cartridges, crawl on all fours and retrieve the birds that was the job of a young man.
One afternoon (duck hunting is done in early afternoon when the sun is up and the birds have gorged themselves to the gills and somnolently clean and preen themselves) we reached the edge of the backwaters and the uncle's friend fired at a pair that was waddling near the edge. One pellet struck one bird while the other took to air. Apparently, these ducks mate for life and the bird that was alive would circle the dead one to find its well being. So, like good humans we waited out of sight near the dead duck while its mate circled overhead making raucous calls. It dived down and rose up and did ever tighter circles near its mate. Finally, after about half hour it decided to land near its mate. A duck is very graceful in water but out of it, it is the clumsiest thing on two feet. When it lands, it slows down, rears back, puts its feet first and then waddles to glide into the water. The uncle took aim and fired in the general region where the dead duck was. The bird raised its head in fear and tried to fly off but managed to flap only one wing. The pellet had struck the other wing. I raced into the water and retrieved both the ducks one dead and the other very alive and vigorous bird. It was a beautiful bird. Mainly bright yellow colour with different coloured feathers on its back and neck, bluish beak, and red eyes.
We cycled home with me holding the bird and whole village gawking at the spectacle.
One of my brother's vegetarian Punjabi friend from Nagpur came home on the same day and he was zapped with all the hullabaloo. I took the bird to a neighbouring fisherman who deftly cut the neck of the bird and gave me its body after some time.
That day, dinner was an awesome experience for  me. I would be lying if I say I felt guilt for the bird. The meat was tender, the bones could be chewed  and eaten up.
But now, as a mature person, when I think, I wonder how I could do what I did. Why didn't I bandage the bird's wing and let if fly. Why I didn't stop my uncle from shooting birds that mate for life.
Even now, our education is about marks and human life and not about humanism and nature.