Here. Ok, yeah, I grew up in Minneapolis, and it was always duck-duck-gray-duck. You’d walk around a circle of kids who were sitting on the ground, saying “red duck” or “green duck” or whatever as you tapped them on the head. At some point you would say “gray duck” and that person would have to get up and chase you. If they tagged you, you had to start over. If not, you could take their place on the ground. But one day, someone got tired of just ordinary colors and decided to give two colors at once, like “reddish-orange duck” and “blue-green duck.” Except that they happened to say “blue-gray duck,” which caused the designated person to jump up and tag the person already standing.
“Hey,” that kid said, “I didn’t say ‘gray duck.’”
“Oh, yes, you did.”
“No, I didn’t. I said ‘blue-gray duck.’”
“Well, that is still saying ‘gray duck.’”
I can’t remember how this got resolved, though we discussed it for several minutes, but obviously it wouldn’t happen if you were saying either “duck” or “goose.” It would be just one or the other.
Another example of Minnesota usage is calling the strip of grass between the sidewalk and the street the “boulevard.” My wife, who grew up in Akron, calls it the “devil’s strip,” and another friend, who grew up in Cleveland, calls it the “tree lawn.” Lots of other people don’t even seem to have a word for it. But I had no idea why the “boulevards” of Paris were supposed to be so wonderful when I happened to see references to them as a child.