On Talk Like a Pirate Day Angel River Song Tries and Fails

Today is talk like a pirate day. While I am too dignified to speak in that particular vernacular, I did have occasion to do so when I was tasked with moving the golden bone, originally chewed on by the first dog, down the river. Evil minions had regained their angel form and had promised to purloin the artifact.

We set sail, and before the sunset over our bow, a pirate boat arose on our port side. We were able to repel their advance. Unable to secure cannon balls because angels supposedly don't need weapons, we fired my collection of watermelons, which put their Captain, McDaniels, in retreat after one of our projectiles exploded on the stern, sending a seed into the skipper's one good eye. I ordered my mates to "make all sail," and we sped away like a waterbug on a birdbath.

We had been at sea several days and were getting hungry when a flock of chickens appeared across our bow, and while I smelled a trap, my crew did not listen and set sail towards birds, who had been fired from McDaniels ship, and put holes in our side. I was appalled; retaliating from a mere watermelon attack with chickens certainly raised the stakes.

We had to take refuge at an island, and it was there that McDaniels caught us and demanded the treasure: "Ahoy, vast maties, give us the royal bones, or we shall skewer you."

I needed to show these pirates that I could talk like them: "Well, old chap, I must say, your demands are beyond the pale."

"Psst," Private Pocket signaled me. "That isn't pirate; that's British."

I nodded and continued: "Well, Blarney, aren't you a lucky little leprechaun."

Pocket shook her head. "That's Irish," she whispered.

Well, this was getting to be a challenging piece of mutton. "So, you boys need to get outta here, or we'll whack you, capisce?"

"That's New York Italian," Pocket informed me.

I held up my paw and asked McDaniels and his men to give me one second. I took my English to the pirate dictionary and began reading it when the impatient marauder slapped my hand.

"Si, senor, por favor," I said, apparently, once again, getting it wrong.

"We should run them through," one of the pirates said, and I was sure we had met our end, at least in their bodies, which was one of my favorites. It was my pirate body with special padding in the booty.

"Isn't that your ship?" Pocket asked.

During our interrogation, Captain Foley, who had been following us in her vessel, had raided the pirate ship and was now floating away with the treasure stranding the pirates and seemingly us.

But Pocket and I had one more weapon to fire. We pooped, spun round, and back kicked our droppings sending the pirates running. Foley had sent a row boot manned by two of our crew to shore, and we could jump in and be taken to Foley's ship; then, we brought the royal bone to its new home.

Back in our house, I was so inspired by the pirates and their talk that I decided to speak as they did at bedtime. "Night, night, sleep tight, don't let the bed bugs bite."

Well, I've got a year to work on it.