The Wishing Ring

Last week, as you may recall, I told you all about my novel 'Dragonfly.' Well, it is now available for purchase on the Amazon Kindle store. If you don't own a Kindle, that's all right, because the free Kindle app is available for iPad, iPod Touch, iPhone, Android, Windows Phone 7, Blackberry, PC and Mac. If you still don't have any of those...then how are you reading this blog? In any case, I hope you will buy my book and enjoy it as much as I continue to hope you enjoy my fairy tales.


This story was originally put down by Germany’s Richard Leander. I think it says a lot about the value we put in objects and how arbitrary it seems at times.

You ever know someone who couldn’t stop complaining about how rotten his life was? The kind of guy who played the martyr and thought the whole world was against him and, rather than take steps to change things, just kept feeling sorry for himself and talking the ears off anybody who would listen about what a victim he was? Well, if you happened to know a farmer calld Johan, then the answer to my questions would be yes because that was Johan to a tee. He worked all his life but never had much success and his response was simply to whine about it.

One day, a withered old crone came to Johan’s home and begged food and shelter for the night. This Johan and his wife, Hilda, were only too happy to give and the old woman slept comfortably in a warm bed with her belly full of Hilda’s fine cooking. As she prepared to depart after breakfast the following morning she said, “Because you have been so kind to me, I will repay you as best I can. If you walk due west for two days, you will come to a great, tall fir tree, taller than all the others that surround. Chop that tree down and you will have your reward.” With that, she made her way.

So Johan set out on his journey, making sure to keep moving due west. For two whole days he walked until, at last, he came to the tree the old woman had mentioned. He struck it once with his axe, and the whole tree shook. Then, from the tallest branches, Johan saw two large, brightly colored eggs fall to the ground. They broke, of course, and Johan saw that one contained a small, brass ring and the other an eagle who, once free of the eggshell, grew to an enormous height.

“You have set me free!” said the eagle. “Thank you, sir. You may keep the ring that came from the other egg. It is a magic wishing ring and is sure to bring you and yours wealth and happiness. Wear it and make any wish you like and it will instantly be granted. But, be warned, it is good for one wish only.” So saying, the eagle flapped its wings and took off.

Johan took the ring and slipped it on. At last, he thought, my life of hard work will finally pay off. If I make the right wish, me and Hilda will be set for life! In very high spirits, he started on the long journey home. After nearly two days, he stopped at a tavern to rest for the night. He was the only customer, so he ate with the tavern keeper, and told him of his amazing adventure. He even showed him the magic ring and explained how it would grant any wish. Envious, the tavern keeper resolved to steal the ring for himself.

Johan went to sleep and the tavern keeper snuck into his room and removed the magic ring, repalcing it with an ordinary brass ring. Then he left his tavern and ran to the forest, to a cave which he sealed up behind him so that nobody would see him. Alone in the cave, he slipped the ring onto his finger and said, “I wish I had a hundred thousand gold coins!” The wish was granted and it began to rain gold coins inside the cave…unfortunately, it wouldn’t stop raining and the tavern keeper couldn’t open the entrance in time. Soon the entire cave filled with coins and the greedy tavern keeper was crushed to death by a hundred thousand gold coins which, for all I know, are still sealed up in that cave along with what remains of the greedy tavern keeper.

The next morning, Johan awoke but couldn’t find the tavern keeper. Assuming he was busy with something else, Johan left his payment on the front desk and went home where he showed Hilda the ring on his finger—which we know to be an ordinary brass ring but which, to Johan’s knowledge, was the magic wishing ring the eagle had given him—and told her that they could have any wish they so desired.

“Oh, darling!” cried Hilda. “Wish for more land!”

“No, Hilda. With this ring we can have anything. Something big and valuable. We shouldn’t waste it on something we can get through normal means. If I work a little harder, we can make more money and buy more land. That way we’ll have the land and still have a wish!”

So Johan went back to work and worked harder than he ever had in his life. And, more astonishing than that, he did so without complaint. In fact, he was happy at the thought of his future prosperity, all thanks to the magic ring. And, in less than a year, he had earned enough to add several acres to his farm.

“Now we can make the wish,” said Hilda. “What if we wish for more cattle?”

“No, that’s a waste of a wish. I can get us more cattle easily.” So Johan worked hard, whistling merrily as he did so, and within a few months, he had the largest herd of cattle in the country. His farm was growing, his profits booming and his fame spreading. The king himself was among his customers and he was paid handsomely for providing his royal highness with his wheat and cattle.

“So are we going to make the wish now?” asked Hilda.

“Don’t be so impatient,” said Johan. “We’re young, healthy and rich. We don’t need the wish right now. Better that we save it and use it only when we really need it.”

It was agreed. Johan and Hilda lived very happily for the rest of their lives. And, many, many years later, when they both did finally pass away, they still had not used the “magic” ring. Johan was buried with the ring on his finger. And never once in his long life did he suspect that the ring had no magic in it whatsoever…although, it did bring he and his wife wealth and happiness...in a way.

THE END

NEXT WEEK: "The Three Pixies in the Well"

The Great Bunny Rabbit Uprising of Somety-Aught Something Or Other: An Epic Poem

The composition of the epic poem is a noble and time-honoured undertaking and is not for the faint of heart. The first and most important step in the writing process is the selection of a suitably historic event worthy of being rhymed. Poems have been composed on historical subjects as diverse as King Arthur and Paul Revere and even some people who didn’t ride horses. But I chose a story with a more local flair. Yes, I speak of none but the Great Bunny Rabbit Uprising of Somety-Aught-Something-Or-Other.

Perhaps the most devastating bunny-related day in Kentucky’s history, it seemed to me to be screaming out from the page. Screaming the way that the lead rabbit did as he led his brethren down that hillside and into the pages of history. I immediately resolved to take on the difficult challenge of composing a suitably epic poem in honor of those bunnies whose lives were lost on that fateful day.

I.

‘Twas long, long ago, give or take a few years

When the good people had to face up to their fears.

I don’t quite recall, because I wasn’t there,

But I’ve heard the tale told and it gave me a scare.

I’ll tell it to you, but I’ll warn from the start:

This story is not for the fainter of heart.

But I’ll tell to you all if you haven’t read up

On the day that the bunnies got good and fed up

On the Flannery farm, things were going okay

And the farmer woke up as he faced the new day.

Then he filled up his lungs with some fresh country air

And he looked out across the farm land in his care.

He looked to the east and examined the corn;

He looked west at the cows in the bright, early morn.

But then came the moment all farmers are ruing

When he said “What in tarnation is that bunny doin’?”

The bunny in question was doing not much:

He was standing there chatting, small-talking and such

With a couple of pigs who he’d known for some time.

Surely talking to friends can’t be thought of as crime.

Now, real rabbit names are a difficult trick.

Just trying to say them makes humans feel sick.

So rather than start when I’ll just have to stop, he

Will heretofore after be known as just “Floppy.”

But the nice conversation would come to close

When Floppy heard something that wiggled his nose.

A gunshot! It rang out not ten feet away

And the farmer, advancing, could be heard to say,

“Gwan! Git outa here, you floppy-eared rat!”

And the shotgun went off with a deafening “blat!”

The time for such pleasantries clearly had passed.

With no word to the pigs, Floppy left that place fast!

He ran and he ran like, well, a rabbit I guess,

Until he was quite far away from distress.

He sat by the roots of an overgrown tree

And he cried. Yes, he cried. Just like you or me.

For poor little Floppy was very confused,

Cuz clearly the farmer had not been amused.

But why should he feel so violent and mad

At a wee little bunny? They can’t be that bad!

It was quite a few hours before he went back

To the warren he lived in with Orville and Mack

And Syvlia and Chauncey and Big Foot McGee

And all of the folks in his large family,

And when his mother saw him, I swear, I’m not lying

It only took seconds to see he’d been crying.

She asked him just why he was looking so grim

And he told her of all that had happened to him.

As he finished his story, the tears came again.

They fell down his cheeks like a cool summer rain.

“I was only just talking,” he cried to his mum

“So why did he treat me like some kind of bum?

“What did I do that could get him so mad?”

“Nothing,” said Mommy. “That man is just bad.

“And I’ll tell your father what happened to you

“And see if he can’t think of something to do.”

Now, maybe your father’s employed at a bank

And he may have worked hard to get up to that rank,

But for Floppy that job would’ve seemed very boring

For his dad was none other than Mayor of the Warren.

His name, as I said, would be tricky to utter

So we’ll call him “Charlie,” which is smoother than butter.

And though leading the rabbits was the pride of his life

He always made time for his son and his wife.

“Yes, dear?” said Charlie, when his wife came around

“What do you need me to—wait, what’s that sound?”

He had heard the faint whimper of small rabbit pup

Sniffling through tears and sucking it up.

Floppy’s mother explained the events of that day

And then Charlie said nothing. What was there to say?

He thought for a moment then said to his son

“I’ll take care of it,” and he left at a run.

“Attention! Attention! Look, everyone zip it!

“We’ve all got a problem and we’re going to nip it

“Right in the bud, now silence, I beg,

“And I’ll tell you how—Bernie, stop shaking your leg!”

Floppy’s Dad Charlie now stood at the head

Of the Rabbit’s High Council, a much honor-ed

Body of bunnies. And once they were silent

He told them a story both shocking and violent.

And when it was over, all their faces were grave

(Even Bernie whose leg at last now ceased to wave).

It was for these rabbits, all sizes, all kinds,

To all come together and make up their minds.

Until, with one voice, they were able to make

A decision on what kind of action to take.

For fully three days the debating wore on.

It ended at last on the following dawn.

And the rabbits, who’d lived their whole lives “in the stew”

Would all band together. They knew just what to do.

II.

The following morning on Flanery’s farm

Nothing had happened to cause him alarm.

The cattle were mooing, the horse saying “nay,”

All in all, things were perfectly pleasant that day.

Until all at once to old Flannery’s ears

Came a sound he’d not heard in quite a few years

Or ever, for that matter, for this scary sound

Was a kind of a rumbling deep underground.

An earthquake? No, no, that’s not possible, is it?

Perhaps someone large has come by for a visit?

Not large, rather numerous; he looked up the hill

And saw such a sight that he dreams of it still:

For out from their holes and descending en masse,

Were about three or four hundred rabbits! Alas!

For the pounding of each tiny paw on the ground

Had been cause of that strange sort of rumbling sound.

Flannery stood there, what else could he do?

As he stared in dumb silence assessing the view

Of hundreds of bunnies now charging his land.

Something had clearly gone well out of hand.

And he looked at the problem and thought, as would you,

“Just what exactly am I s’posed to do?

“My farm’s being charged by a few hundred bunnies;

“This kind of disaster comes straight from the funnies.”

And charge him they did, with all of their speed

(A few of them stopping to graze and to feed),

But most of them running with all of their might

To fight against hate in the soft morning light.

And Charlie himself, and his family too

Were right out in front and leading the crew

Of rabbits whose minds were full up with their goal:

To never again be chased down a hole

To never be treated like vermin or rats

To never be threatened by beagle or cats

To be free! Ah, yes, free! To live as they please

Is the right of all creatures, from camels to fleas.

But something occurred as the charging continued

(To voice any questions right now would hae been rude)

But across every mind of each bunny that day

A question came up they were too scared to say.

As they gradually neared the old Flannery farm

These rabbits had thoughts that caused each one alarm.

“We’re advancing quite nicely. Yes, that much is true

“But once we get down there...just what do we do?”

“We haven’t got fangs or sharp claws like a bear,

“We haven’t got weapons to fire in the air.

“We have greater numbers, this can’t be denied,

“But rabbits aren’t fighters. We’ve not even tried!

“When facing down danger it’s rabbit tradition

“To run for the hills. Now this dangerous mission

“Will surely end badly for me and for you.

“I feel like this plan wasn’t really thought through.”

So the uprising failed; we all knew it would.

At fighting and clawing, rabbits just ain't that good.

But the news is still good from this botched operation,

And that’s why this day is known throughout the nation.

For though he was not so afraid of the bunnies,

He did think the sight of their charge was quite funny.

And Flannery vowed from that day till tomorrow

To stop filling their lives up with grief and with sorrow.

A truce! Yes indeed, a most noble endeavor.

A peace among species to last till forever.

And an honor bestowed upon all rabbit kind.

For if you consider the date, you will find

That the great bunny uprising, so long ago,

Took place on a Sunday I think we all know.

And every year since on this wonderful day

We commemorate rabbits in some special way.

So that’s why a bunny makes each Easter greater.

As for the eggs? Er, well…ask again later!


THE END

Next Week: "The Nine Dancing Princesses"