Pegleg

It was my favorite pond. I’d already forged thousands of memories
among the beautiful scenery. And as I stood with her, neurons were firing and new memories were being conceived.

It’s the perfect place to go for a bonfire, or a rainstorm, or for building a dam. Tonight, we were here to feed the ducks.

We broke the day old rolls from Dick’s market into small pieces, and held them out to the greedy water fowl, who came charging from the water to the shoreline. Many were bold, taking food directly from the hand, and
others were aggressive, fighting each other for each morsel.

Then we noticed the duck who had remained at the water’s edge. This was the crippled duck, who had the misfortune of missing one foot. We took special care to throw pieces of bread directly at our monoplegic friend.

“What should we name him?” I asked her, to which she made no reply. “I think we should name him Pegleg,” I joked, answering my own question.

“No, not Pegleg,” she replied, “Something better.”

Captain Jack Duck and Long John Silver were promptly tossed out of the name pool. Until inevitably, we could think of no proper name for him,
and it stuck, Pegleg.