A Ninja never gives up...
First, I would like to thank all of you who responded with good thoughts and prayers regarding my previous post. I will pass all of your good wishes and prayers on to my cousins when they are feeling better. Truly, you touched my heart with your kind words.
Now, on to a more pleasant subject...
Chatty has spoken about The Wiz before. He is, after all, her husband. But mostly, Chatty has talked about his kindness, his ability with computers, and so forth.
Today, you will get a bit of The Wiz in his creative mode. The Wiz writes like nobody else Chatty has ever read. He is GOOD. He has written 4 books now, but can't find a publisher. This is a shame and a travesty, and Chatty is just about to prove it.
Herewith is an example - unedited - because there is no need for editing.
Chatty now turns you over to The Wiz, and how he summed up his adventure with "Pip".
....................................................................
"When you finally become a Ninja of the highest order, you must vow to use these powers only for good. Having vowed such, I was compelled to act in the following situation. I could do no less. I was in Santa Monica on a hot, sunny, August afternoon. ‘The dog days of summer’.
I caught him out of the right side window. He was on a mission. I’ll never know exactly what that mission was, and I’m sure he didn’t either. His name was Pip, and he was a dog. He was doing about a hundred—in dog miles-per-hour—and fear was not on his mind. He darted across Montana Avenue and straight up Euclid Street, without so much as a thought of the screeching car that had just missed him. Like I said, he was on a mission.
Pip was wearing a leash that whipped about as it trailed along behind him, this was my first clue. I looked to the right again, for the owner of that leash. My Ninja powers had kicked in full and I could feel the power that was mine to command.
She’s the one, I thought, my fleet little Mirage already headed her way. Fiftyish, wearing a flower-print dress, and decidedly frantic. She was wringing her hands which was a dead giveaway. I punched on the emergency flashers and pulled right up to her at the curb—rolling down the passenger window as I did.
“That your dog,” I said, with all the authority a Ninja possesses. Ordinary mortals cannot resist this. That’s why we have to be careful.
“Oh yes,” she answered, her grief at this matter presenting itself fully. “I fell down, and he just took off.”
“Get in ma’am, we’ll get him.”
She got in. This Ninja stuff is powerful.
I was fully focused now—and invincible, as well. Without realizing how or why, I was able to negotiate traffic in an incredible manner. It was child’s play. I shot across Montana and closed the gap.
“Don’t worry,” I said, reassuringly, “what’s his name?”.
“Pip,” she answered, in what I had earlier perceived as a thick German accent. “I fell down that little embankment and he got away from me”. She had seen the near miss as Pip had crossed Montana and she feared the worst. I suddenly realized that this situation could end badly. I brushed the thought aside. I was fully committed. Turning back was not an option.
Pip was on the right side of the street as we approached but he hung a big U-ey in front of us and headed back toward Montana, where the traffic was. By the way In case we don’t get there in time Pip is a wire-haired terrier, and ... he’s a runner.
Pip again crossed Montana, sending cars this way and that, to avoid hitting the little guy. Pip was the jaywalker from hell. Again he made it, just barely. I followed, slipping between the traffic like a wayward summer breeze.
A group of people had collected on the south side of Montana and they were waiting for ol’ Pip.
“Oh look,” said the woman beside me, some hope creeping into her voice.
They must have been friends with this lady. They were pointing and lunging, trying to capture him. Ol’ Pip wasn’t so old, however, and the folks there were no match for him. They never even touched him as he left them in the dust and once again headed back toward Montana and certain doom.
Cool as a cucumber, I brought it around again, just in time to see Pip dart in front of a bus. The two of us let out small screams—in unison—as we awaited the inevitable. Both mortal and Ninja, powerless to do anything about it.
This was not a good bus driver. No, this was a splendid wizard of a bus driver. A fellow Ninja perhaps? He, or she—we weren’t close enough to distinguish gender—brought the massive blue and white behemoth to a screeching halt mere inches from tragedy. We had been holding our breath and we let it out together. What next, I thought, as I resumed pursuit.
Pip was oblivious to all this and didn’t miss a beat as he charged up Euclid once again. Oh, he was a pip all right—if ever a name was appropriate.
I was doing okay but the woman beside me—whose name I never got—was sinking fast. I figured we might just be running out of luck. We had to get him this time. Even a Ninja gets only so many chances. I spotted an opening and hoped it was enough.
Pip was getting predictable and I was ready for him this time. Before he could hang his U-turn, I whipped it into a driveway on the left side of the street and stopped. Right on cue, ol’ Pip smoked another U-ey and was headed our way. When he saw us getting out of the car, he shot up the same driveway we were parked in and headed for the house. We had him.
There is nothing in the ‘Messenger Ninja Manual’ about chasing dogs on foot, however, and he faked me out like a rookie linebacker trying to bring down Emmett Smith on his first try. Fortunately, we were not out of luck just yet.
Pip decided to cut up Euclid, away from Montana, and ... he was wearing down. We still had a chance but we would have to make this one count. God was already working overtime.
The woman took off after him on foot, not really running mind you, but she was moving pretty good.
“Pip,” she cried out, and this seemed to help. He slowed a bit more, allowing her to get closer. I sat back down in my car, watching this little dance wind down. I closed the door and started the engine, ready to resume the chase if need be.
A Ninja never gives up.
She got within about three feet of him and, speaking softly, grabbed the leash.
It was over.
I watched, as she scolded him and then they both started back up the street toward me. Pip, that little dickens, fell right in line—head held high, prancing—the mission forgotten.
“Thank you,” she said, and waved. I returned the wave and backed out of the driveway, on to my next mission. I was content in the fact that I had helped to save ol’ Pip’s ungrateful little ass from becoming a pancake. The woman was grateful too, and that was worth the ride.
“Shucks ma’am, ‘twern’t nuthin.”
All I needed now was a sunset to ride into."
This man deserves to be published!
Chatty rests her case.
Now, on to a more pleasant subject...
Chatty has spoken about The Wiz before. He is, after all, her husband. But mostly, Chatty has talked about his kindness, his ability with computers, and so forth.
Today, you will get a bit of The Wiz in his creative mode. The Wiz writes like nobody else Chatty has ever read. He is GOOD. He has written 4 books now, but can't find a publisher. This is a shame and a travesty, and Chatty is just about to prove it.
Herewith is an example - unedited - because there is no need for editing.
Chatty now turns you over to The Wiz, and how he summed up his adventure with "Pip".
....................................................................
"When you finally become a Ninja of the highest order, you must vow to use these powers only for good. Having vowed such, I was compelled to act in the following situation. I could do no less. I was in Santa Monica on a hot, sunny, August afternoon. ‘The dog days of summer’.
I caught him out of the right side window. He was on a mission. I’ll never know exactly what that mission was, and I’m sure he didn’t either. His name was Pip, and he was a dog. He was doing about a hundred—in dog miles-per-hour—and fear was not on his mind. He darted across Montana Avenue and straight up Euclid Street, without so much as a thought of the screeching car that had just missed him. Like I said, he was on a mission.
Pip was wearing a leash that whipped about as it trailed along behind him, this was my first clue. I looked to the right again, for the owner of that leash. My Ninja powers had kicked in full and I could feel the power that was mine to command.
She’s the one, I thought, my fleet little Mirage already headed her way. Fiftyish, wearing a flower-print dress, and decidedly frantic. She was wringing her hands which was a dead giveaway. I punched on the emergency flashers and pulled right up to her at the curb—rolling down the passenger window as I did.
“That your dog,” I said, with all the authority a Ninja possesses. Ordinary mortals cannot resist this. That’s why we have to be careful.
“Oh yes,” she answered, her grief at this matter presenting itself fully. “I fell down, and he just took off.”
“Get in ma’am, we’ll get him.”
She got in. This Ninja stuff is powerful.
I was fully focused now—and invincible, as well. Without realizing how or why, I was able to negotiate traffic in an incredible manner. It was child’s play. I shot across Montana and closed the gap.
“Don’t worry,” I said, reassuringly, “what’s his name?”.
“Pip,” she answered, in what I had earlier perceived as a thick German accent. “I fell down that little embankment and he got away from me”. She had seen the near miss as Pip had crossed Montana and she feared the worst. I suddenly realized that this situation could end badly. I brushed the thought aside. I was fully committed. Turning back was not an option.
Pip was on the right side of the street as we approached but he hung a big U-ey in front of us and headed back toward Montana, where the traffic was. By the way In case we don’t get there in time Pip is a wire-haired terrier, and ... he’s a runner.
Pip again crossed Montana, sending cars this way and that, to avoid hitting the little guy. Pip was the jaywalker from hell. Again he made it, just barely. I followed, slipping between the traffic like a wayward summer breeze.
A group of people had collected on the south side of Montana and they were waiting for ol’ Pip.
“Oh look,” said the woman beside me, some hope creeping into her voice.
They must have been friends with this lady. They were pointing and lunging, trying to capture him. Ol’ Pip wasn’t so old, however, and the folks there were no match for him. They never even touched him as he left them in the dust and once again headed back toward Montana and certain doom.
Cool as a cucumber, I brought it around again, just in time to see Pip dart in front of a bus. The two of us let out small screams—in unison—as we awaited the inevitable. Both mortal and Ninja, powerless to do anything about it.
This was not a good bus driver. No, this was a splendid wizard of a bus driver. A fellow Ninja perhaps? He, or she—we weren’t close enough to distinguish gender—brought the massive blue and white behemoth to a screeching halt mere inches from tragedy. We had been holding our breath and we let it out together. What next, I thought, as I resumed pursuit.
Pip was oblivious to all this and didn’t miss a beat as he charged up Euclid once again. Oh, he was a pip all right—if ever a name was appropriate.
I was doing okay but the woman beside me—whose name I never got—was sinking fast. I figured we might just be running out of luck. We had to get him this time. Even a Ninja gets only so many chances. I spotted an opening and hoped it was enough.
Pip was getting predictable and I was ready for him this time. Before he could hang his U-turn, I whipped it into a driveway on the left side of the street and stopped. Right on cue, ol’ Pip smoked another U-ey and was headed our way. When he saw us getting out of the car, he shot up the same driveway we were parked in and headed for the house. We had him.
There is nothing in the ‘Messenger Ninja Manual’ about chasing dogs on foot, however, and he faked me out like a rookie linebacker trying to bring down Emmett Smith on his first try. Fortunately, we were not out of luck just yet.
Pip decided to cut up Euclid, away from Montana, and ... he was wearing down. We still had a chance but we would have to make this one count. God was already working overtime.
The woman took off after him on foot, not really running mind you, but she was moving pretty good.
“Pip,” she cried out, and this seemed to help. He slowed a bit more, allowing her to get closer. I sat back down in my car, watching this little dance wind down. I closed the door and started the engine, ready to resume the chase if need be.
A Ninja never gives up.
She got within about three feet of him and, speaking softly, grabbed the leash.
It was over.
I watched, as she scolded him and then they both started back up the street toward me. Pip, that little dickens, fell right in line—head held high, prancing—the mission forgotten.
“Thank you,” she said, and waved. I returned the wave and backed out of the driveway, on to my next mission. I was content in the fact that I had helped to save ol’ Pip’s ungrateful little ass from becoming a pancake. The woman was grateful too, and that was worth the ride.
“Shucks ma’am, ‘twern’t nuthin.”
All I needed now was a sunset to ride into."
This man deserves to be published!
Chatty rests her case.
A Ninja that reminds me of Hank the Cowdog! (Now THERE's a combination!!)
I love it!
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I was the proud owner of a wire haired fox terrier and they truly can run for miles and miles all the while with a big grin on their face. What fun and Thanks for a great story.
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