This past weekend, the Red Cross and the school music department held a duck race at a park in Small Town. At this fund raising event, there is a clown making balloon animals, games for little kids, a dunking tank, a tent with hot dogs and their usual trimmings, and mini-concerts by the high school jazz band and steel drum band—my daughter's very last performance with these groups, by the way. The end.
Later in the afternoon, more than 1500 ducks raced down the creek, and prizes were awarded for the winners. If you've never been to a duck race, it may seem odd. I find it oddly fascinating. People buy ducks and are given numbered tickets. Hundreds of little plastic ducks, each with corresponding numbers, are dumped into the creek, and a guy in waders herds them down to the finish line. They funnel through one at a time, and the winners are collected.
I didn't stay for the actual race because it was such a hot day, and I didn't want to stand there idly waiting so I could take a picture. So, here is a picture of someone else's duck race, just to give you an idea of what the spectacle looks like. Fun.
I don't buy ducks, but I do sponsor the race with a donation, so I get my own special prize. A couple of days after the race, someone shows up at my door with a box of sugar cookies in the shape of ducks. I did manage to get a picture of those for you. What does that say about me?