Charles McKeithan

Ninja Cattle Rustlers

Part I

It’s not often that when someone jokingly says “Now if I only had some Ninja Throwing Stars”, you get to casually walk over to your tool box and hand them an assortment of several styles to choose from.

It is Day Ten of the shoot and we are making a hell of a lot of progress. Something has clicked, and for today at least, we are all smooth cogs in a well oiled machine. All of us except the cows. The cows had other secret rebellious plans for us. As we loaded my rock solid counter part into the truck for a 200 yard away long shot, a black hefer lowed in an unsettling manner. She was the scout. Something was defiantly afoot. Griffon held on valieantly as the V-8 and the shock absorbers argued audibley about weather or not it was a good idea to be blasting a new trail through golden brown pastures of devoted hillocks. He took air once or twice but never left his post as he protected the most insane back pack contraption ever called a prop.

I pulled around the edge of the hill that marked our drop zone and set cattle running for cover. A good twenty or so were set in attack postion reminiscent of the standard gorilla warfare style of the Nijaro Radicals of lower Quebec. Untrained and unprepared, they scattered in a panic. I finished my circuit of the hill and came to a dead stop as an embarrassed ache formed in my gut. Dead ahead at twenty paces, one lone hunk of half ton usda grade A stood with horns glistening in the afternoon sun. The scattered heard had reformed behind us cutting off the way back. We had fallen right into their hands.