For andeincascade
Number Ten - Whimsy/Reality
No-one was sure who had actually brought in the egg incubator and set it up in the break room, but that didn’t stop there being a drifting crowd of interested people, drinking much more coffee than usual, peering through the domed Plexiglas lid.
In total disregard to Fraser trying to point out that eggs seized by illegal collectors were usually non-viable, there was a betting pool going on what, exactly, would hatch from the large speckled egg nestled in shredded paper in the middle of the incubator. There was also a betting pool on when the egg would hatch, and if it would do so before someone from Animal Control or Fish and Wildlife (there was some jurisdictional wrangling) showed up. Both pools were being run by Detectives Huey and Dewey.
It was five days after the betting started that Frannie’s excited squeak caused a mass stampede in the direction of the break room and an avid double-circle of faces crowded over the incubator.
“Stork.”
“Frannie, are you outta your mind? It’s going to be a duck.”
“Says you, brother.”
“Shut up, it’s hatching.” Huey leaned closer, notebook containing the odds in one hand. A large crack zigzagged around the top of the shell and it suddenly popped open.
A confused looking bundle of soggy grey feathers rolled across the bottom of the incubator and fetched up against on side.
“What is it?” Frannie queried.
Fraser bent over, squinted at the chick and smiled. “Branta canadensis.”
“Brandon who?” Frannie frowned.
Ray rolled his eyes. “It’s a Canada goose. Figures.”
No-one was sure who had actually brought in the egg incubator and set it up in the break room, but that didn’t stop there being a drifting crowd of interested people, drinking much more coffee than usual, peering through the domed Plexiglas lid.
In total disregard to Fraser trying to point out that eggs seized by illegal collectors were usually non-viable, there was a betting pool going on what, exactly, would hatch from the large speckled egg nestled in shredded paper in the middle of the incubator. There was also a betting pool on when the egg would hatch, and if it would do so before someone from Animal Control or Fish and Wildlife (there was some jurisdictional wrangling) showed up. Both pools were being run by Detectives Huey and Dewey.
It was five days after the betting started that Frannie’s excited squeak caused a mass stampede in the direction of the break room and an avid double-circle of faces crowded over the incubator.
“Stork.”
“Frannie, are you outta your mind? It’s going to be a duck.”
“Says you, brother.”
“Shut up, it’s hatching.” Huey leaned closer, notebook containing the odds in one hand. A large crack zigzagged around the top of the shell and it suddenly popped open.
A confused looking bundle of soggy grey feathers rolled across the bottom of the incubator and fetched up against on side.
“What is it?” Frannie queried.
Fraser bent over, squinted at the chick and smiled. “Branta canadensis.”
“Brandon who?” Frannie frowned.
Ray rolled his eyes. “It’s a Canada goose. Figures.”