Wally brushed away an overly friendly fly. “I thought he was just teasing,” he said. “I dunno. Let me see how they do it first, Peg.”
“I think you could do it,” his wife insisted. “All those years of casting fishing lines have to work in your favor.”
Ian clapped Wally on the shoulder. “She’s got a point there, Wally. They have prizes for the best hurls from the audience, you know. Can’t hurt to try.”
Wally laughed. “A prize. Right. Probably a giant haggis for the family. Let’s just watch the competition, all right?” He turned his attention back to the barrel where the first hurler was preparing to scramble on top with a haggis gripped in one hand.
“I think the hardest part would be getting up on that barrel without tipping over,” marveled Annie. “It doesn’t look like it’s the sturdiest of platforms.”
The hurler placed his hands on opposite sides of the barrel rim, bent his knees, and sprang up on the barrel, landing like a frog. Annie couldn’t resist clapping her hands, a “woo-hoo!” spilling from her lips. Deep concentration was written on the man’s face. He straightened until he was standing upright. He drew back his throwing arm and hefted the haggis as hard as he could without tipping himself over.
Ian clapped, his face showing his appreciation of the skill. “Decent first throw. Gives the others a good challenge.”
As the rest of the competitors took their turns, it became apparent that the technique of haggis hurling was as varied as its participants. Some techniques appeared to be more successful than others.
“It amazes me that of all those hurlers, only a couple tipped over the barrel,” Alice marveled.
“I’d guess a good number of those competitors are fishermen and lobstermen,” said Wally. “They learn to balance on anything. They could probably balance on a barrel in an earthquake.” He paused for a moment, thinking, and then said, “Maybe I will give it a try.”
Emily did her best cheerleader imitation. “Go, Dad, go! Go, Dad, go!”
“Save your cheering until it’s my turn, Princess,” Wally told her. “The women’s competition is just starting.”
The female hurlers lined up and waited as the two teenagers carried out a wooden platform to set next to the barrel. It was only a few inches shorter than the barrel but wider. At least half of the competitors selected to hurl their haggis from the barrel and made a good show of rising to the challenge.
Annie turned to Ian. “I see what you mean about the women and the barrel. Those lasses were springing up like rodeo queens onto their horses.”
“Impressive, for sure,” Alice agreed. “Gives new meaning to the phrase ‘light on her feet.’”
Ian waved a hand in Wally’s direction. “The hurlers from the audience are going to have a hard act to follow.” He stepped behind his friend and started massaging Wally’s shoulders like he was a prizefighter preparing to head into the ring. “Better start loosening up.”
“All right, all right,” Wally muttered, shrugging off Ian’s help. “Give a guy some space, Mr. Mayor.” But once he had stepped clear of the others, he began to swing his arms in giant circles and squat a few times to warm up his muscles. With a wry grin he asked, “Satisfied? Unless, of course, you’d like to do the hurling yourself?”
“I got myself roped into wearing a kilt next year,” Ian reminded his friend. “Don’t you think that’s enough for one old guy?”
Amidst the laughter that followed, the announcer’s voice broke in: “Now it’s time for the brave members of the audience to take their chances at the Haggis Hurl.”
“Brave or stupid?” Wally added, though he was smiling when he said it. He lightly tugged one of his daughter’s pigtails. “When it’s my turn at the barrel, cheer with everything you’ve got, Princess.” With a wink at Peggy, he ducked under the fluttering barrier and strode toward the growing line.
Peggy turned to the others, a sheepish look on her face. “Why do I feel like there should be trumpets blasting like he’s going out to slay a dragon?”
“Perhaps you read Em too many fairy tales when she was younger,” Alice answered, grinning.
“LeeAnn loved Saint George and the Dragon,” said Annie. “The book was in tatters by the time she moved on to other favorites. I bought a new version with gorgeous illustrations for John and Joanna when they were little.”
“Em’s favorite books are ballerina and princess ones,” Peggy reminded her friends. “Now, if there was a book with a dragon princess in a tutu and toe shoes, she’d be all over that story!”