A Duck Named Thanksgiving

About a special duck.

My uncle was a quiet-spoken man.  He was a wood floor specialist.  He did everything from installing to repairing wood floors.  He was sought after throughout half the state.  He had a crew that did out of town jobs.  He took care of the ones close to home.  He was forever taking barter instead of money for his services.  One spring day he brought home a baby ducklet... is that a word?  Anyway, it was small, yellow and fuzzy.  It quacked a lot.  All the kids in the family fell in love with him.  We gave no thought to the adults naming him Thanksgiving.  That is until November of that same year.

Thanksgiving played with us kids, the dogs, the cats, and everyone.  However, one afternoon we were all out in the backyard.  Thanksgiving was chasing us around the yard, quacking, and having fun.  Grandmother and my uncle were sitting at the picnic table on the patio.  My uncle was talking about Thanksgiving but not as a duck but as part of our Thanksgiving meal.

I stopped the kids from playing, and we hid behind the tool shed and listened.  "I just don't know if I can cut his head off.  It was a good idea when I brought him home but now."  My uncle shook his head and put his face in the palms of his hands.  Grandmother patted his shoulder.  "Don't worry son, I come from pioneer stock.  I will wrench his neck and cut his head off when the time comes.  You may have to help me pluck him."

We all looked at each other.  Thanksgiving was listening too.  We all looked at him.  We made a pact.  To keep Grandmother away from Thanksgiving.  When we got close to the day we would find a way to hid him until after Thanksgiving Day.  I had three cousins.  Mike, (the oldest boy), Timothy (the youngest boy), and Tina the only girl and youngest of the three.  The two boys were to find a place somewhere in the neighborhood to hide Thanksgiving.  We girls were going to make it our mission to get Thanksgiving to stay away from Grandmother.

We girls had decided that by getting some of Grandmother's clothing we could let Thanksgiving smell it, then hit him (not hard just enough to get his attention).  Sometimes we would poke him.  Grandmother lived with my sister and me in the city and would not be here again until Thanksgiving Day.  We would all come early, so the women could get started cooking in the kitchen.  Thanksgiving's training had gone great.  Maybe a little too well.

We kids were out in the yard and were being paged to come in and play.  We knew that the time had come.  The boys had found a place to hide Thanksgiving, but they were not back yet from preparing the place for his arrival.  We were very nervous as Grandmother, ax in hand, went out into the backyard.

Suddenly, we heard Grandmother screaming her head off.  We all raced to the backyard.  There was Grandmother running, the ax had fallen on the table, and Thanksgiving was chasing her.  He would get close to Grandmother and bite her on the bottom.  Grandmother slowed down and then slipped.  Thanksgiving got on top of her and started nipping at her hair, her dress, her arms, and her hands.  We kids were clapping our hands and delighted the training had paid off.  Our mothers were not so pleased.  They ran out to rescue their mother.  As they were bringing Grandmother to the picnic table the boys showed up in the alley.  They had a large beach towel.  They put it over Thanksgiving's head and took off.  Grandmother looked over at three, very sweet little girls.  We were still grinning.  I realized she might have actually been hurt.  I loved my grandmother but ... She suddenly realized the problem.  She asked her daughters if there was a turkey in the freezer.  When they said yes, we clapped.  After all, we did not know the turkey.

It was not long after that we had decided to have a family cookout.  We all went outside.  We had all forgotten about Thanksgiving's training.  We were playing with the dogs, cats, and Thanksgiving when Grandmother came outside.  Instantly, Thanksgiving started chasing her.  We all laughed, but this time we rescued Grandmother.  We never figured out how to un-teach Thanksgiving, so we had to pen him up when Grandmother was going to be joining us outside.  We made it a family rule from that point on that we did not eat anything we had named.  Grandmother said it was to prevent my uncle from bringing home a pig named Bacon, or a lamp named Turkey.  It also became a rule that all animals given as barter had to be freezer ready when he brought them home.

Grandmother, as usual, found the funny side of the situation.  Grandmother said no one believed she was always getting chased by Thanksgiving, even in July.  It became a family joke.  Grandmother would rub her bottom and say it is funny to everyone but me.  Again, we laughed with her.   Not too long after that Grandmother said she was going to eat me up.  I wagged my finger at her, no you won't.  You already named me, remember our new rule?  We all laughed together again.

Reviews

[Samuel Dickens]

This reminds me of the mean rooster we had. Mom had no trouble wringing the necks of ordinary chickens, but that rooster was big, mean, and had flogged everyone in the family. No young boys or sympathetic girls to rescue that one. With Mom's permission, I shot him with my 22, and there was a big pot of chicken and dumplings for Sunday dinner.
I like your stories because they're about things familiar.

[texasjane]

Thank you. I appreciate your response. We are in the same age group. We remember similar things. Our values come from the same time slot.