Poohsticks with Rissa

Poohsticks from A. A. Milnes’ The House at Pooh Corner.  Illustration by E.H. Shepherd

 
We played Poohsticks last weekend.  We had to be careful, and not cross the bridge willy-nilly on account of the fact that, for a small country road in Lanark County, there’s a lot of traffic.  David, Rissa and I gathered our sticks – made sure we weren’t going to be squished flat by asshole drivers who don’t follow the 40 km/h speed limit – and launched our precious playing pieces into the Tay River.   We ran to the other side of the bridge, waiting for our sticks to come out, but to no avail.  We saw… nothing.  Where did they go?  Who had won?  The sticks must have been too small.

“We need bigger sticks,” said I.

“We need Pooh LOGS,” said Rissa, in her Eureka voice.

David and I shared a glance.  “Ummmm… I don’t think we want to call it Pooh LOGS…”

“Why not?” asked Rissa.

“Well, it kinda sounds as if we’re throwing bowel movements over the bridge.  Or maybe like we’re sitting on the edge of bridge and poohing over the side.”

Rissa thought for a second.  “I’m totally going to call it Pooh Logs from now on.”

We all are.