“Come on, Goose!” Duck yelled. “Let’s see how fast Thistle can run downhill.”
“Can’t we just watch the clouds instead?” honked Goose.
But Thistle and Duck
were too far ahead
to hear him.
At the bottom of the hill, Goose moaned, “Can’t we just—”
“Stand on our heads?” Thistle interrupted. “Of course!
But first let’s have a who-can-hop-on-one-foot-the-longest match,
a walk-across-a-log challenge,
a balance-a-stick-on-your-head contest,
and a jump-over-a-bush race.”
When it was time to stand on their heads, Goose had had enough.
“I’d rather look for butterflies,” he said to himself.
“On your marks, get set …,” Thistle quacked. “Ready, Goose?”
But Goose was nowhere in sight.
“Time me, okay, Duck?” said Thistle.
Duck sighed. “Sure.
One hippopotamus … Did Goose say where he was going?
Two hippopotamus … Do you think he’ll come back?
Three hippopotamus … Should we go look for him?”
“Who?” squawked Thistle.
“Goose!” squawked Duck.
“Oh, that guy was going to lose anyway. Now let’s see if I can beat my personal record. Keep counting.”
“What is your record, Thistle?”
“Three thousand, five hundred and thirteen.”
By “six hippopotamus,” Duck had had enough.
“I can’t believe you’re leaving me upside down like this!” cried Thistle as Duck headed off into the tall grass.
Duck looked for Goose in all their favorite places.
But the lily pond
was empty.
The shady thicket was dark and quiet.