Damn A Duck
It was 105 degrees when Dad rounded us all up to help him for just a few minutes. He herded us down to his pond and explained the situation.
He was draining the duck hole to plant millet, but the last bit of water would not drain. He sent us into the creek beside it to dig down and increase the flow of outward water. Everybody got a turn on the shovels as Dad shouted instructions.
Damn a duck.