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Bandit Saves The Day
#WritcoStoryPrompt67
It was cool late October morning. Glancing at my weather station that sits at the street level window as I poured my black coffee I noted today's walk with Bandit will require an extra layer. Bandit my old yet "spry" toy fox terrier was still wrapped in his favorite blanket laying in his wicker bed. He seemed to have already read the weather station as he watched me hobble around the kitchen from under his eyebrows as if to be worried about our routine departure for our morning walk in the city park.
Bandit is a beautiful 15 year old pup. As I, he is nearing the end of his time here on this beautiful blue ball. Our bones may have brittled and our muscles are not as limber or strong but our minds are keen and wise.
I placed the top on my favorite travel thermos, Pittsburgh Steelers logo is about completely worn off but it still holds coffee hot if I let hot water run into it for about 3 mins. I swing my long wool coat over my back. Holding it in place with my left arm as I struggle to find the right arm hole. The huffing and puffing success almost makes me not want to repeat the process for my left arm. Bandit picks his head up to check on me with a concerned tilt of his head. Here goes arm number two. His head falls back into his blanket I think his concern look may have been more of an eager look that I may die of a heart attack putting on my coat and he won't have to get his old bones out of bed.
Sorry Bandt. I survived! Let's role! As he does his slow standing front to back stretch I arm wrestle a scarf around my neck and tuck under my coat. Pop my on my twill hat and jingle his leash. Bandit walks under the leash with head down in protest. As I buckle the leash he gives one last eyebrow raise. Quit your bitching the air is good for us. I placed my thermos in my bag and grabbed my cane.
Stepping out of the apartment always makes me feel old and almost ashamed. See ole Bandit and I were not always this frail or lived below street level. No we were young strong ladies men and not too long ago we lived on the 9th floor. We loved that apartment, our favorite place was the balcony overlooking the park. Hours we spent there watching things come and go. You see I am a retired Ironworker. Local 40 NYC the best of the best, well that's what every Union Ironworker claims of thier home local. My 6'2 220 pound beef cake body has slumped and worn from 35 years of abuse banging iron. Although their was a time I could chew 1 inch bolts into 3/4 inch washers when supply ran low and Bandit well his 3 pound muscular body could chase a ball for hours on end. Oh the good life. We had to give up that apartments 9 flights of stairs to a 3 stair climb out for our morning walks.
Just 2 blocks to the park. 10 mins a block not too shabby aye Bandit? Bandit seems to have accepted his fate this morning and is into the smells on the way. Lifting his leg on his favorite light pole. We take our time no hurry. I have some stale bread for the ducks if the pigeons don't cause trouble again. We sit on our favorite bench and have coffee waiting for the ducks to spy us and come over.
We made to the bench and sat down. Bandit asking for his treat, a kong full of peanut butter and I reach for my thermos. Oh steamy hot smelly black coffee. The 30 degree temperature has chilled my fingers and the warm coffee mug is confronting. Suddenly we both heard a scream. A weird scream like someone might have fell possibly. It came from behind us on top of the hill. We both tried to turn to get a better look...there it is again closer sounding. Bandit left his kong and stood up looking at the top of the hill. As I placed my mug on the bench to try and stand HELP ME! HE IS TRYING TO KILL ME!! SOMEONE PLEASE!
A man's voice sounded aged. I frantically push myself to my feet grabbing my cane. Bandit begins to bark and is pulling at his leash to run toward the screams. Again HELP HELP! GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME! NO NO!
The morning sun is just rising and burning off the dew a shadow moving on the top of the hill...yes I see him. An ole boy trying to run. I had to get up there!! I cut Bandit loose and he bolted up the hill I lost sight of him but could here his bark. It was toned on badass. He is a small old dog but he knows something isn't right. I pushed up the hill I'm getting out of breath, what the fuck..body move!! I pull the scarf protecting my neck from the chill and drop it. Trying to unbutton my coat so I my old muscles can have some movement, I thought this man needs help I have to get up there then I heard a voice in my head say "then what, you both be killed".
I pushed on, my legs burning I hear the man yelling, "Bandit Attack!" Wait he knows Bandit? My heart jumps a beat my arthritis fingers find the buttons of my coat as I near the the top of the hill. My left arm out of the sleeve I trade my cane to shake off the right sleeve...Now standing at the top of the hill holding my cane like a bat I am in between the old man and his attacker. Back off mother fucker!!! I burt out holding back my full out desire to drop to the ground out of breath.
A man in his twenties stopped in his tracks. Looks at Bandit back at me and said..."What an old man and a rat protecting an old man?" He stepped into range and I wiped that grin off his chin with the curved end of my cane. His hand went to that side of his face. I heard his teeth break when I swung again striking the other side. At this point the old man yells "Spike, he has a blade!" I then see my old connecting partner Steven Cole, we called him 2 bars. 2 bars and I hung by our balls connecting high iron for 20 years together. We faced down more fear then this punk with a blade. My eyes drawn an focused on 2 bars' face was bleeding from a knife wound.
I turn back to the the punk, looking like the two smacks from cane stunned him but also pissed him off. I unloaded with all I had. Pure adrenaline!! A Blade Mother Fucker!!! A Blade Mother Fucker!!! I screamed as I brained him with the cane until it broke.
He had backed up several feet from the blows. His face bleeding badly, my arms burning my grip weakening I say...severly hoping to the little punk...."Had enough?" He reached in his pocket pulling out the knife..."No old man I'm just getting started." He came at me swinging the knife at my face and neck. I kept backing up using the broken end of the cane to deflect. Our feet scuffing on top of the pebble stones I felt I would fall. Then 2 bars picked up a rock about the size of grapefruit and joined the fight. "Hey Fucktard!" "Get off my brother!" The punk went for him Bandit grabbed his pants leg growing like crazy as I stuck the broken end of my cane into his neck and 2 bars smashed his head 3 times with the rock.
What happen next detective? He dropped like 10 pound beater to the ground. "Was he dead at that point?" Well detective if he wasn't I bet he wished he was after picking on 2 ole ironworkers and thier protection dog.
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It was cool late October morning. Glancing at my weather station that sits at the street level window as I poured my black coffee I noted today's walk with Bandit will require an extra layer. Bandit my old yet "spry" toy fox terrier was still wrapped in his favorite blanket laying in his wicker bed. He seemed to have already read the weather station as he watched me hobble around the kitchen from under his eyebrows as if to be worried about our routine departure for our morning walk in the city park.
Bandit is a beautiful 15 year old pup. As I, he is nearing the end of his time here on this beautiful blue ball. Our bones may have brittled and our muscles are not as limber or strong but our minds are keen and wise.
I placed the top on my favorite travel thermos, Pittsburgh Steelers logo is about completely worn off but it still holds coffee hot if I let hot water run into it for about 3 mins. I swing my long wool coat over my back. Holding it in place with my left arm as I struggle to find the right arm hole. The huffing and puffing success almost makes me not want to repeat the process for my left arm. Bandit picks his head up to check on me with a concerned tilt of his head. Here goes arm number two. His head falls back into his blanket I think his concern look may have been more of an eager look that I may die of a heart attack putting on my coat and he won't have to get his old bones out of bed.
Sorry Bandt. I survived! Let's role! As he does his slow standing front to back stretch I arm wrestle a scarf around my neck and tuck under my coat. Pop my on my twill hat and jingle his leash. Bandit walks under the leash with head down in protest. As I buckle the leash he gives one last eyebrow raise. Quit your bitching the air is good for us. I placed my thermos in my bag and grabbed my cane.
Stepping out of the apartment always makes me feel old and almost ashamed. See ole Bandit and I were not always this frail or lived below street level. No we were young strong ladies men and not too long ago we lived on the 9th floor. We loved that apartment, our favorite place was the balcony overlooking the park. Hours we spent there watching things come and go. You see I am a retired Ironworker. Local 40 NYC the best of the best, well that's what every Union Ironworker claims of thier home local. My 6'2 220 pound beef cake body has slumped and worn from 35 years of abuse banging iron. Although their was a time I could chew 1 inch bolts into 3/4 inch washers when supply ran low and Bandit well his 3 pound muscular body could chase a ball for hours on end. Oh the good life. We had to give up that apartments 9 flights of stairs to a 3 stair climb out for our morning walks.
Just 2 blocks to the park. 10 mins a block not too shabby aye Bandit? Bandit seems to have accepted his fate this morning and is into the smells on the way. Lifting his leg on his favorite light pole. We take our time no hurry. I have some stale bread for the ducks if the pigeons don't cause trouble again. We sit on our favorite bench and have coffee waiting for the ducks to spy us and come over.
We made to the bench and sat down. Bandit asking for his treat, a kong full of peanut butter and I reach for my thermos. Oh steamy hot smelly black coffee. The 30 degree temperature has chilled my fingers and the warm coffee mug is confronting. Suddenly we both heard a scream. A weird scream like someone might have fell possibly. It came from behind us on top of the hill. We both tried to turn to get a better look...there it is again closer sounding. Bandit left his kong and stood up looking at the top of the hill. As I placed my mug on the bench to try and stand HELP ME! HE IS TRYING TO KILL ME!! SOMEONE PLEASE!
A man's voice sounded aged. I frantically push myself to my feet grabbing my cane. Bandit begins to bark and is pulling at his leash to run toward the screams. Again HELP HELP! GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME! NO NO!
The morning sun is just rising and burning off the dew a shadow moving on the top of the hill...yes I see him. An ole boy trying to run. I had to get up there!! I cut Bandit loose and he bolted up the hill I lost sight of him but could here his bark. It was toned on badass. He is a small old dog but he knows something isn't right. I pushed up the hill I'm getting out of breath, what the fuck..body move!! I pull the scarf protecting my neck from the chill and drop it. Trying to unbutton my coat so I my old muscles can have some movement, I thought this man needs help I have to get up there then I heard a voice in my head say "then what, you both be killed".
I pushed on, my legs burning I hear the man yelling, "Bandit Attack!" Wait he knows Bandit? My heart jumps a beat my arthritis fingers find the buttons of my coat as I near the the top of the hill. My left arm out of the sleeve I trade my cane to shake off the right sleeve...Now standing at the top of the hill holding my cane like a bat I am in between the old man and his attacker. Back off mother fucker!!! I burt out holding back my full out desire to drop to the ground out of breath.
A man in his twenties stopped in his tracks. Looks at Bandit back at me and said..."What an old man and a rat protecting an old man?" He stepped into range and I wiped that grin off his chin with the curved end of my cane. His hand went to that side of his face. I heard his teeth break when I swung again striking the other side. At this point the old man yells "Spike, he has a blade!" I then see my old connecting partner Steven Cole, we called him 2 bars. 2 bars and I hung by our balls connecting high iron for 20 years together. We faced down more fear then this punk with a blade. My eyes drawn an focused on 2 bars' face was bleeding from a knife wound.
I turn back to the the punk, looking like the two smacks from cane stunned him but also pissed him off. I unloaded with all I had. Pure adrenaline!! A Blade Mother Fucker!!! A Blade Mother Fucker!!! I screamed as I brained him with the cane until it broke.
He had backed up several feet from the blows. His face bleeding badly, my arms burning my grip weakening I say...severly hoping to the little punk...."Had enough?" He reached in his pocket pulling out the knife..."No old man I'm just getting started." He came at me swinging the knife at my face and neck. I kept backing up using the broken end of the cane to deflect. Our feet scuffing on top of the pebble stones I felt I would fall. Then 2 bars picked up a rock about the size of grapefruit and joined the fight. "Hey Fucktard!" "Get off my brother!" The punk went for him Bandit grabbed his pants leg growing like crazy as I stuck the broken end of my cane into his neck and 2 bars smashed his head 3 times with the rock.
What happen next detective? He dropped like 10 pound beater to the ground. "Was he dead at that point?" Well detective if he wasn't I bet he wished he was after picking on 2 ole ironworkers and thier protection dog.
© All Rights Reserved
