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Ninja Cows

A story crafted from three random words: cow, tree, pipe.

Cows don’t think.  Not that they can’t, some might argue.  A zoologist might say that cows have spots, not actually thoughts.  A rancher will promise you that his (or her) thoughtless cow is of great stock, going to be Grade A beef.  A child will pet a cow and say that she is fuzzy.  You will pet the child’s head and tease that he is fuzzy too.

Yes, that’s right.  I am encouraging you to talk to the children now, when they pet you.  It is because human children know the greatest secret of the National Petting Zoo Dojo: it’s not easy to pick up a pipe and hold it behind your fetlock, while also mastering the ancient art of bipedal walking.  However, even the famous Moo-sister cow ninjas of were shown how to, in just the nick of time.

‘Cowabunga’ is a sacred word to us.  So often misused, by other, ignorant species.  In half-shells.

Last night, while apprehending the Shenandoah Strangler, we came to an impasse.  We found the rogue bull wandering down on the long, moonlit National Mall, which as you know, is an acre’s long grassy stretch, lined by trees.  There was nowhere else for him to run, but if he held off any longer, old Shennan might be seen by the park police, and then all of us would be discovered and shamed before the Utter Supremacy Council.  We were wobbly but poised like the gouda-crane on our hindlegs.  He had two horns in the classic style, which should not have been much, but Shennan, was also rumored to know the secrets of Kobe, the techniques from Rancher’s Reserve and even the sheep-shearing Outback.  My Moo-Sister and I are but local bovines hoping to do right by the citizens of Washington, D.C.

As for the Ambassador’s daughter, Molly, she was just a girl Shennan held near to cleft hooves and one easy toss of stained horns.  If we made one wrong move, she might have been felled, easily.

But, my friends, we now have an alliance with the children because Molly showed us to victory.  A sideways glance and then some silent striking motion, helped us to notice a set of construction pipes at the edge of the grass, near the street.  Weapons, of course!  The one thing cow ninjas never expect, beyond the steak and cheese movements.  So we turned to leave, or really, feigned at grazing for a time.  We cows are always eating.  But it was also our chance to lean down and seize the pipes, putting all our bovine bulk behind the effort, wrench them free of the hydrant, charge, swing, and then serve Shennan up right!

Thanks to the guidance of one brave child, the Moo-Sisters of the National Petting Zoo Dojo have saved yet another innocent from the cleft-clutches of the Shenandoah Strangler.  So meditate, ruminate at the petting corral, and be scratched behind your ears, Moo-Sisters, with pride.  Continue to think thoughtless thoughts, if it so pleases them.

End transmission.

Thanks to Doni, who sent these words to me while looking out of a restaurant window in New York City.

I’d love for folks to send in more combinations of three random words for the daily Randiddles. Just send me an email.  If you share a name and what you were doing when the words came to you, that’d be even more awesome, of course.

Filed under: Randiddles

About the Author

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I've always wanted a place to share my weird, wild, nature-loving, talking animal, multicultural and multilingual fantasy fiction stories online. I also have a fashion blog!

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