The Mighty Ducks
Memorial Day once again played host to The Duck Race.
Last year, Chris and I reigned victorious with our "Mutant Rubber Duck #14" whale. We won The Trophy (said trophy made it through Chris and I moving in with one another in RI, then the shuffle off to CT, and survived the spring cleaning where I tossed out everything I owned) and brought it back this past Sunday to crown another champion.
We went with old Whaley again this year.
The Third Annual Memorial Day Duck Race commenced with the starting gun (aka my brother popping a balloon) and the ducks were released! My family lined the edges of the little brook that runs behind my mother's house and cheered on their ducks excitedly.
"Come on! Come on ... whale!"
Chris's mother, making her Duck Race debut, turned to me and said, "If I win, I'm putting that trophy right on my mantle."
The ducks raced along the winding brook. I scanned the water for my "duck," only to find him slightly water-logged and plodding along lazily and last.
"Ahh! Chris! We are last!"
From across the brook where he was taking pictures, Chris shouted back: "Dead last!"
We not only didn't win, but we came in dead last. That orange whale came rolling over the finish line well after the trophy had been reassigned to my youngest cousin. I plucked the whale out of the water and toweled him off.
"Don't worry. There's always next year." The whale wheezed out a mouthful of water in exhausting, plastic response.