The Rescue
You know, I think there is something
most infuriating in searching for the perfect shell. Hermit Crabs
know what I'm talking about. It comes at close inspection, that two
shells, however similar, are just not quite the same. I have
experienced the most vexatious moments whilst holding two near
identical and exquisite shells in hand and deciding which to pocket
and which to throw back. In the end, I was greedy, I took both. It
was much the same when I first encountered Ray and Rope.
A test of will and doggedness
is this clash of uncommon foes
though not without a gallant pageantry
not unlike the posturing crows
Back and forth is their tireless dance
tis a thrust and pirouette affair
their victories are measured in inches
one's defeat seems ever near
A leap, a shout and teeth are bared,
but a passing retreat to be sure
its vengeance is always a leisured charge
met tirelessly by defender's paw
Is there no end to this hopeless struggle
The tug-of-war lingers on and on
At least till the master's disapproving call
then was this satire put to song
Today he would be victorious. Today he would settle the score once and for all.
Oh, it liked to deceive him, always pretending to withdraw. But it always came back. It would always return with a savage roar and a frothy maw.
Today, he was ready. Rope would finally scare the beast back to its lair for good. He hated to lose.
Just yesterday, he had brought down a wild boar. It too, had fled back down into its dark burrow. Rope had drawn it back out, of course. He had taunted it, shouting and howling jeers and jibes, till the pig could take no more affront to its pride. Rope thought that boar's, like all sow, had all too much of that particular sentiment. He, of course, had a certain kind of pride too, but it was much more a dignified self respect, just like old Mrs. Hardy. She had a sickly voice but never let anyone goad more than one biscuit out of her, himself included. Rope respected that.
So, with his heroic triumph yesterday filling him with a new resolve, a powerful trio of vim, vigor and vane-glory, Rope was sure to defeat the great soggy beast. There was no doubt. Today he would send the beast slithering back to wherever it came from, to never dare to come back. This was his beach, Rope's beach. Let none challenge his might!
Head to the ground, he stalked as close as he dared. The stones he always assumed were stuck down his throat rattled together in anticipation. He couldn't help it. Too late! It must have heard him. On calm days like these, it would approach lazily, much like the miller's old cow. That made the hairs on Rope's neck stand up straighter than a porcupine's. Well, Rope would make the thing show him some respect.
He drew back his lips and snarled at it for good measure. The beast continued its leisured charge. Rope dropped low once more, priming his body in readiness. The thing came on, finally rearing its head and revealing its frothing jaws. Rope, bane of the boasting boars, curse to the cackling crows and woe of the willful wolves, leapt to the attack, calling his own challenge to the beast.
“Rope! ROPE! Oi! Look what you did! I saw a really good one right there, and now its gone. I've told you a hundred times, it's no different than the water in the lake. It's not going to hurt you. Look!”
The young man stomped and splashed his way right into the beast's clutches.
“See,” he drawled. “I'm fine!”
Of course it was at just this moment that the beast chose to launch its second attack, a much more violent and vicious attack than had been its first. Rope watched in horror as his friend fell back, arms flailing, into the maw of the beast.
Rope could never understand the stupidity, or was it audacity, of his friend. Nevermind. The beast had him now. It was up to Rope once again to save him.
A test of will and doggedness
is this clash of uncommon foes
though not without a gallant pageantry
not unlike the posturing crows
Back and forth is their tireless dance
tis a thrust and pirouette affair
their victories are measured in inches
one's defeat seems ever near
A leap, a shout and teeth are bared,
but a passing retreat to be sure
its vengeance is always a leisured charge
met tirelessly by defender's paw
Is there no end to this hopeless struggle
The tug-of-war lingers on and on
At least till the master's disapproving call
then was this satire put to song
Today he would be victorious. Today he would settle the score once and for all.
Oh, it liked to deceive him, always pretending to withdraw. But it always came back. It would always return with a savage roar and a frothy maw.
Today, he was ready. Rope would finally scare the beast back to its lair for good. He hated to lose.
Just yesterday, he had brought down a wild boar. It too, had fled back down into its dark burrow. Rope had drawn it back out, of course. He had taunted it, shouting and howling jeers and jibes, till the pig could take no more affront to its pride. Rope thought that boar's, like all sow, had all too much of that particular sentiment. He, of course, had a certain kind of pride too, but it was much more a dignified self respect, just like old Mrs. Hardy. She had a sickly voice but never let anyone goad more than one biscuit out of her, himself included. Rope respected that.
So, with his heroic triumph yesterday filling him with a new resolve, a powerful trio of vim, vigor and vane-glory, Rope was sure to defeat the great soggy beast. There was no doubt. Today he would send the beast slithering back to wherever it came from, to never dare to come back. This was his beach, Rope's beach. Let none challenge his might!
Head to the ground, he stalked as close as he dared. The stones he always assumed were stuck down his throat rattled together in anticipation. He couldn't help it. Too late! It must have heard him. On calm days like these, it would approach lazily, much like the miller's old cow. That made the hairs on Rope's neck stand up straighter than a porcupine's. Well, Rope would make the thing show him some respect.
He drew back his lips and snarled at it for good measure. The beast continued its leisured charge. Rope dropped low once more, priming his body in readiness. The thing came on, finally rearing its head and revealing its frothing jaws. Rope, bane of the boasting boars, curse to the cackling crows and woe of the willful wolves, leapt to the attack, calling his own challenge to the beast.
“Rope! ROPE! Oi! Look what you did! I saw a really good one right there, and now its gone. I've told you a hundred times, it's no different than the water in the lake. It's not going to hurt you. Look!”
The young man stomped and splashed his way right into the beast's clutches.
“See,” he drawled. “I'm fine!”
Of course it was at just this moment that the beast chose to launch its second attack, a much more violent and vicious attack than had been its first. Rope watched in horror as his friend fell back, arms flailing, into the maw of the beast.
Rope could never understand the stupidity, or was it audacity, of his friend. Nevermind. The beast had him now. It was up to Rope once again to save him.