#everyone is off the rails in this book! Everyone (aside from many jordan) and he uh. Oh boy

[rotzaprachim]

Declan’s parkour in this is simultaneously managing to be the overbearing mam figure babying a kid who doesn’t need it over minor things because so much of his sense of identity is based on his family AND a really neglectful authority figure who’s man slut winner comes to some degree at the expense of his underage charge’s basic needs

[peachhoneii]

A Lesson in Dabbling

A/N: It’s gonna be May in less than a week!

The boys learn a lesson about the differences in duck biology. Unfortunately for Donald, it’s a bit more life threatening than he would like.

Louie did not like the communal pool. It was loud, rowdy, and there were too many people drifting in the waves their accumulated body masses created. He could have joined them. The waves were inviting in a way, but he kicked his feet idly in the waters seated on the edge of the pool. He stared ahead behind a pair of sunglasses as children splashed and swam.

Huey doggy paddled using his JW swimming float. Dewey was in the middle of an intense game of Marco Polo with their friends from school.

“Marco!”

“Polo!”

“Gilligan, you’re supposed to keep your eyes closed!”

“Look, last time I kept my eyes closed I ran into a pig’s hairy back.” He shot back at Jordan, whose shell swam circles around them, “And seriously, dude? You know I can’t catch you.”

Louie preferred to stay on land when they visited the communal pool. He counted down the minutes. At three he planned to visit the concession stand to buy a hamburger, soda, and fries. Uncle Donald sent them off with enough money for each, and it was his job to watch the money.

He patted his swim trunks pocket.

Gilligan threw his hands up in the air, giving up the chase. Dewey swam to the edge, gasping for breath, and grinned at him, “You’re staying on shore again?”

“The communal tub is a giant bath tub, and I want no part of it.”

“So, that’s why you’ve got your feet in there,” Jordan shouted for a second before diving again. He watched as his shell disappeared among the people.

“I do that for Uncle Donald.” He curled his bill in disgust, “He wants to make sure we had fun, and this is as much fun as I’m gonna get until we go to the water park.”

The water park was directly across the communal pool, and cleaner.

Dewey shrugged and readied to return to his friends. Turning his head, his face scrunched in confusion, “Gilligan, what are you doing, man?”

Louie shifted his view to where Dewey stared and asked the same question. The upper half of Gilligan’s body was submerged in water with his feet sticking high in the air. It would have been a funny sight to laugh at if he hadn’t remained completely still. His webbed feet didn’t twitch. His knees didn’t knob. There wasn’t a single trace of strain in his form. He went up and down, a consequence of the constant waves, but other than that, he was perfectly motionless.

“Gilligan? You okay, dude?”

Huey paddled towards him, “Gilligan?” He poked his bent knee experimentally, “We need to get him upright.”

“No, you don’t.” Jordan emerged from the waters, “He does this.”

They were about to ask what that meant when Gilligan suddenly jerked and sunk into the waters. He appeared right after, gasping loudly. His coarse, curly green feathers were weighed down with water. His gasp left his lips and was replaced with a sharp giggle, then a cackling laugh. He hooted, swishing water in every direction.

Huey, Dewey, and Louie stared in bewilderment.

“Yeah, man, that hit the spot!” He floated on his back, “I love doing that! You know how hard it is to get that thrill in the bathtub?”

“What was that?”

“We thought you were dead!”

“Can I do it too?”

Louie didn’t fall into the pool but leaned forward, eyes wide. He had never seen anything like that before. Gilligan stared back at them in confusion, glancing worriedly at Jordan who shrugged.

“I don’t know.” He admitted while he pushed his legs back and forth, “I’ve always done it. It feels good, but I can’t do it in the tub like this.”

“In the tub?”

“Yeah, you know when you hold your breath and dive under the water? It’s kind of like that. I feel…light…fuzzy…like I want to keep going until I reach something, but I know whatever it is isn’t there. Something like that.”

The boys glanced at each other and returned to Gilligan.

It was Dewey that broke their circle silence, “Guys, we gotta try that.”

Huey refused. He told them not to. The pitched slither in his tone stopped them from Dewey’s initial attempt, “We should find out more about what he did before trying,” and that pacified Dewey for the time being.

At three, Louie bought their lunch. They played in the pool. They went to the water park across the street, and when they returned home, they bathed and settled into their beds. Louie knew what to expect the next morning and fell asleep easily, glad he didn’t fall in the pool again.

“It’s something other ducks can do.” Huey was perched on the top bunk. He read in a clear, quiet voice that resonated in their small room; the JWG was held firmly in his hands, “Anas is a genus of dabbling ducks where the duck dives into shallow water in search of food.”

“You’re telling me they used to eat like that?”

“Kind of yeah.” Huey closed the book, “It appears they did it to eat aquatic plant life and insects in the water. As ducks evolved, their minds and bodies adapted to the change.”

“So why did Gilligan do it?”

“An instinctive nature designated for his species.” Huey’s expression turned thoughtful, “What is he anyways?”

“His mom is a black duck.” Louie turned over under the covers, “I saw her at the bake sale. Her peach cobbler is to die for.”

“And his dad?”

Dewey tapped his bill, “I think he’s a mallard. I saw him with Gilly after school a few weeks ago.”

“That seems to answer it.” He closed the book with finality, “Now, let’s have breakfast. I think Uncle Donald is making pancakes.”

“But wait,” Dewey grabbed his sleeve, “what about us? Can’t we do it?”

“Sorry, American Pekin Ducks aren’t a part of the Anas genus. We’re from a domesticated line.”

Louie rolled out of bed and rubbed his eyes. He watched Huey go down the hall and enter the kitchen. Dewey stood there with a frown on his face.

“Hey, don’t worry about it, bud.” He patted his back on his way out, “Not everyone can dabble, and besides, it’s a lost art. I doubt even Gilligan can do it perfectly.”

He went to the kitchen to eat pancakes, which Uncle Donald had made for the morning, leaving Dewey behind to ponder over his words in their bedroom.

Louie would see in hindsight that it was thoughtless of him to leave Dewey with that dangling sentence.

Uncle Donald was down for a nap. He was permitted to take naps every now and then when they boys were at school, and this continued when summer vacation was well under way. Huey was writing a report for the JW. Louie was watching Wisney afternoon cartoons in the living room. He was alone, or as alone as he could be.

He knew where Uncle Donald kept the water wear. The life jackets, the floaties, and the swim rings were stored in a cramped, little closet in the hallway. It didn’t take much to wiggle it through and put some air in it. He didn’t hurry outside, choosing to walk casually with the inflated ring under his arm. Louie didn’t stir from the television screen. Huey didn’t look up from his paper.

The deck was freshly washed and sparkled as a result. A seagull hadn’t left a dropping yet, the air was humid, and the water below looked inviting. He went to the railing and stared below. Calm waters. Good. It didn’t make sense for an attempt during stormy weather. He would have tried in the tub, but the tub was too small. Huey had made such a fuss about the pool that he didn’t even get a chance.

He wore his swimming trunks, wiggled the swimming ring around him, and stepped off the houseboat to go around into the water.

It was a cool like warm. He floated comfortably on side of the houseboat. All he needed to do was to turn his body over, and capture the feeling Gilligan had felt on that day.

“Where’s Dewey?”

Louie bit into his sandwich and shrugged, “Isn’t he in our room?”

“He isn’t in our room. I was in my room writing my paper for JWG. It’s about the ramifications of Roman -,”

“I think I saw him with a swimming ring a few minutes ago.”

“Why would he have a swimming ring?”

“I dunno.”

Huey blinked, went outside, and Louie heard a strangled cry that forced him from the comfort of the living room and his half-eaten tomato, ham, sliced cheese, and lettuce sandwich.

Huey stood at the railing staring down at the water. Louie followed suit and snorted, “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

He dived in, tried to get into position, and sunk. He dived in, tried to get into position, and sunk. It was an uncomfortable, constant loop of Dewey repeating the attempt. He didn’t possess Gilligan’s odd grace. His knees knobbed and feet trembled. His body swayed back and forth in the still waters.

“What are you doing?” Huey shouted, “Get back up here before you drown!”

Dewey splashed up, “I’ma dabble! I think I’m getting the hang of it.”

“No, dude. You like a dying fish on land.”

“You sound like a dying seal. Get back up here.”

He resurfaced, “Not until I dabble!”

Louie and Huey shared an uneasy stare. He would not get out of the water. He absolutely refused, and the chances of his drowning increased dramatically. He splashed, bubbled, floated about without any grace. His arms lost their strength, and he grabbed the swimming ring.

“Wanna come up?”

“No, not really.” He dove again.

“Boys?” Came Uncle Donald’s voice from the house boat, “I swear if Louie’s gotten his head stuck again the -,” he stopped behind them, “what’s going on?”

Huey and Louie froze, spinning around with stiff smiles.

“He’s taking a bath.”

“He is definitely not in the water outside the houseboat!”

Louie paused and turned his head slowly with a glare imprinted in his eyes.

Donald didn’t think twice, “He’s what in the what!?” He pushed them aside and looked down below, “Dewey!”

There wasn’t time to explain what was going on, or why it was happening in the first place. Dewey hadn’t returned to the surface yet, and Donald jumped into the water, diving right beside the swimming ring. They held their breath over the railing, watching and waiting for their uncle and brother to emerged through the waters, but rings of bubbles came to pop instead over the rippling water.

“We should do something,” Huey whispered.

“What are we gonna do!?”

“Call the ambulance.”

He ran back to get the phone when the water started to break. Uncle Donald parted the surrounding water in a great circle, clutching Dewey to his chest. He swam with one arm back to the harbor, pushing Dewey’s body first onto the pavement. Dewey rolled on his side, His little body shook and heaved, and he clutched his side as seawater streamed out of his bill like a river. Uncle Donald gasped, spat water out, and dropped on his knees, crawling to him.

“Dewey, Dewey speak to me!”

“I hear you.” He wheezed, “I hear you loud and clear.”

“Oh, my sweet baby!” Suddenly, he was pulled to his chest. Uncle Donald peppered him with kisses, over his face and head, and with another jerk, he was pulled away from his chest, “What were you thinking!?”

Louie and Huey grimaced from a safe distance.

“Uh...I was…”

“Don’t you know how dangerous that was!? You could’ve drowned!”

Anger born from worry was the worst, but Dewey had no time to think about that.

Dewey grinned sheepishly, “I was trying to dabble.”

“Dabble?” Uncle Donald searched his face for any sign of lies, “You mean dabble, dabble like ducks do?”

“Yeah, I saw Gilligan -,”

“We’re not that kind of duck!” He shook him viciously, “We don’t dabble!”

“Then what kind of ducks are we!?”

“American Pekin!” Uncle Donald jerked him back into his chest, caressing his head as he crooned quietly, “My poor, sweet, dumb child, we’re American Pekin. We don’t dabble.”

“A lot of folks don’t dabble, Dewey.” Louie said from his spot on the houseboat, “Are we in trouble?”

Donald released Dewey, staring at him wearily. His nap was spent and used to its fullest extent, but he appeared as tired as if he had returned from a late night shift, “Go back in side and dry off, Dewey, you too.”

“But am I grounded?”

“I don’t know.” He contemplated aloud, “There’s a lot we haven’t discussed about biology, and I shouldn’t have skimmed that with you boys.”

“So…”

“It was still a ridiculously stupid thing to do.” He fell on his bottom, wiping his forehead, “But it isn’t the worst thing you’ve done, go inside and get ready for dinner. I’ll start it up soon.”

“What about my swimming ring?”

Donald glared.

“Fair enough.” He hurried up the ramp, “Will be dry and clean by time you get inside.” His brothers followed quietly behind him, relieved their brother was safe and even more relieved they weren’t in trouble with him.

Donald watched them disappear into the houseboat. Red, blue, and green, such wonderfully troublesome colors. He scratched the back of his head and rolled forward, “Don’t forget it’s preening night!”

Their collective groans made him grin.