Dinky and the Duck

I introduced you to my Aunt Vi, AKA "Dinky," in an earlier post - the sore-toed sister and accomplice of the pie-pan, chicken murdering sister. In today's episode, Dinky is getting ready to receive a suitor, a beau, or as my grandmother would have said, "a feller she's sweet on."

If you remember, I also mentioned that my mother's nuclear family included my grandfather and grandmother, nine siblings, and an old bachelor uncle. Uncle George was, for lack of a better description, a character. Well, "a character" is actually an understatement, but it's the best I can do at the moment. Let's just say that Uncle George was a tease, and a prankster, and a bit of a scamp.

Dinky also had four older siblings, three of whom were already married at the time of the duck incident. Kind, hardworking, devoted, Mae, the eldest, married Renford Murphy, an exceedingly sweet-tempered man, after the war and moved to Greenville Alabama with him. (That's a story for another day.) James, the serious oldest son, was married to Lucille, a perky, petite woman, with the tiniest feet I think I ever saw on a grown woman. And then there was my mom, Vaughnie (or Bonnie as she was known by most, because she hated her given name) who was married to Glenn, my notorious, bug-squashing father, whom you met in the "Stiff-neck Chronicles."

Now, just imagine what sort of devious mischief might happen on a lazy, boring Sunday afternoon, when you put that prankster uncle together with my jokester father (especially if you add a snort or two into the mix.) And then imagine that you are Vi - all dressed up in your Sunday-go-to-meetin' finest, ready and anxious to receive your gentleman caller - the perfect, unsuspecting target. Got an image?

So what do you think, happened next? Well, it wasn't fun for Dinky, I can tell you that much for sure.

The expected date arrived, nervously shaking hands all around, and was shuffled into a proffered place on the front porch swing to await his girl. Moments later, Vi came out of the house, smiling brightly at her gentleman caller, her dress perfection and curls bouncing in that flirtatious way curls used to bounce in the 40's. She practically danced across the worn floor boards and took her seat beside her young man on the swing.

Now the treachery begins. With a mischievous grin, Uncle George scooped up one of the baby ducklings that were running around in the yard and handed it to my dad, his partner in crime, gesturing for him to give it to Vi. Which he did of course, with no hesitation, placing the baby duck squarely in the middle of Vi's lap, on the full skirt of her best dress.

I'm sure you can guess what happened next. The duckling did as ducklings do when dropped against their will into the lap of a loudly protesting teenaged girl. It squawked and flapped away, leaving a long streak of duck poo in its wake. Dinky, seeing that her beautiful dress was ruined, and mortified beyond belief, bolted for the house, chased by guffaws of laughter from Uncle George, Brother-in-law Glenn, and all of the other family members who were witness to her embarrassment. Witnesses, I might add who did nothing to forestall her humiliation, even when they knew what was coming.

As if this incident in itself wasn't bad enough, it has been remembered and recounted time and time again by Vi's siblings and in-laws - to her continued dismay. Quite often throughout the years, when it was felt that a reminder was called for, a little yellow duck of some sort would show up at the appropriate time, and the moment would be relived in all it's hilarity. This included a birthday, not too many years ago, when a cake sported a yellow ducky and read, "Happy Birthday, Dinky!"