On Saturday afternoon I learned that there is a people for whom my heart is black. And those people are crabs. That horrible whistling sound when their bodies are steaming from the inside out has never made me flinch, or even the scratching of their tiny claws on the sides of the pot as they try to climb away from their death, but Saturday afternoon we went full-on Hunger Games, forcing our crabs to compete against one another for the chance to be the last one boiled while we all stood around and cheered. It was sick. And by sick I mean awesome.
The duckling had a feisty little sucker he named Dash, while the birdie ended up with a crab named Celeste.
The duckling took his crab coaching responsibilities pretty seriously, or at least the responsibilities that didn't require touching or looking at the crab. He was terrified. I'm pretty sure he wore his sunglasses because he thought Dash was going to claw his eyes out.
Somehow Dash won his heat, which simply meant he managed to slide down the plywood slip-n-slide faster than the other crabs. It also meant he made it to the finals, facing a crab named "One-Armed Allen" for the title. Between you and me, One-Armed Allen's missing appendage gave him an unfair advantage because, with his missing claw side towards the finish line, he basically rolled to the finish. I decided that instead of being a sore loser I'd turn the loss into a teaching moment for my son, so I taught him how to make One-Armed Allen into a prize-winning crab cake.