The Third Kind of Luck
by Dave White
Music arranged by Chip Davis
Story Editor - Melody Rondeau
Executive Producer - Ponsonby Britt, O.B.E.

You just have to ask yourself, “Do I feel lucky?”
Inspector “Dirty” Harry Callahan S.F.P.D.


Monterey Jack bounded through Rescue Ranger Headquarters with much more of a spring in his step than usual. It was a day when he summoned up his pride in his distant ancestry. Though born a proud Australian, his roots reached back to the Old Sod. He decorated the front room with fresh, bright green clover and even swapped his usual sweater for a green velvet vest. This was the day when everyone was Irish. St. Patrick’s Day.

A few of Monty’s patriotic excesses had been curbed over past years. He had not painted the entire interior of the Headquarters green, nor plastered the exterior with paper shamrocks. And when his fellow Rangers sat down to breakfast, they were not treated to green plates, toast, butter, syrup and milk; not to mention eggs and ham. This morning, his only mealtime indulgence was a cloverleaf of green whipped cream on the waffles.

“I’ve gotta run,” Chip declared as he polished off the last of his breakfast. “The police caught Chuck Sellers the jewel thief last night. I want to get over to the crime scene and see if there are any clues that would lead us to Pete Panther.”

“I’ve gotta go, too!” Dale said. “There’s a new Captain Kapok graphic novel coming out today at the comic shop. The artist is gonna autograph it!”

Zipper chimed in with a determined buzzing. “Oh, that’s right, Zip ol’ boy,” Monty translated. “You want to get over to Queenie’s beehive with the thank-you note for the honey she sent us. Did everyone sign it?”

“We sure did, Monty,” Gadget said. “Here, Zipper. I’ll make that note easier for you to carry.” In a flash, she folded it into a sleek paper dart. Zipper doned a scarf and sunglasses and gave a jaunty salute as he seated himself on board.

“Where are you off to, Gadget-luv?” Monty asked.

“To the airport. The Thunderhead supersonic airliner is making its first flight today. It’ll cross the Pacific in under five hours carry four hundred and fifty passengers in a double decker cabin and even improve the food.”

“You’re watchin’ too many commercials, luv,” Monty said.

“Come on, let’s go,” Chip said.

“Whoa! Whoa! Hold on just a sec,” Monty said. “I have something for ya.”

Monty opened a wooden chest on the table and removed four tiny four-leaf clovers, each smaller than their own hands and tied to a silver string. Although they were obviously bright green, they seemed to glow with a golden light.

“These were sent to me by my second cousin, William O’Stilton. They’re guaranteed to bring The Third Kind of Luck.”

“Is there more than one kind of luck?” Dale asked.

“Of course, Dale ol’ pal. There’s good luck, bad luck and....”

“Oh, Monty,” Gadget chided. “We’ve been over this before. Good luck charms are just a superstition.”

“Yeah,” Chip said. “Last time we got in more trouble because of your superstitions than we started out in.”

“Not this time, Chipper. These are hand grown and enchanted by the Little People, and you know they’re real. We’ve met them.”

“We met one of them,” Dale said sceptically, “and he almost got us all killed!”

“Don’t be mockin’ the leprechauns, mate. These are the charms they use themselves for luck. They’re the finest good luck charms a mouse could wish for. The charm can only be used once, at the moment of greatest need. Then they become ordinary three-leaf clovers.”

“Monty, this is all silliness,” Gadget insisted. “A piece of leafy imported vegetation can’t affect the operation of random chance in the temporal time stream continuum.”

“How’s that, luv?”

“A clover won’t bring good luck.”

“Well, take ‘em along and wear ‘em anyway. Just to humor ol’ Monterey Jack on his favorite holiday.”

Chip, Dale and Zipper accepted the shamrocks and slipped the silver strings around their necks. But Gadget was a tougher sale.

“Golly, Monty, I still can’t believe you go in for this magic charm business.”

Instead of answering, Monty siddled up behind Gadget, caught the spot next to her tail and applied a ferocious pinch.

“YEEEOWWCH! MONTY! What’d you do that for?”

“You’re not wearing green on St. Patrick’s Day, luv,” he warned ominiously.

“Gimme that!” Gadget snarled as she grabbed the shamrock and looped it around her neck. “Before anyone else gets any ideas.”

Chip and Dale, in perfect unison, snapped their fingers at the missed chance.

“We better get going,” Chip said. “Everyone meet back here for lunch.”

As they ran out the door, Monty called after them, “Nothing green for lunch but the salads. I promise!”

* * *

Zipper looked every inch the dashing ace pilot flying his paper dart aircraft. (Okay, so he isn’t a whole inch tall. You get the drift.) It was a different experience for him to be both propulsion and pilot, and it did slow him down a bit. But what an entrance he’d make with a victory roll at the front door of Queenie’s beehive!

Ordinarily, Zipper wouldn’t expect lawn sprinklers in March. But as he approached the edge of the park, the lawn beneath him came alive with them. Water shot up from swing-arm sprinklers like fire from anti-aircraft guns. Unable to gain altitude with the extra weight of the note, Zipper turned and dodged, barely missing the streams. One after another the sprinklers took their shots at him and each he outmaneuvered. It was a performance worthy of an Air Medal, and it almost worked. Just before the edge of the park and clear flying, a sprinkler caught him from behind. He tumbled helplessly from the blast of water straight into the stream from another sprinkler on his right. Just when he thought he’d escaped, three of the sprinklers converged on him in mid-air and hosed him down for good, the water-soaked note paper, now shapeless, dragging him to the ground. He no sooner hit the ground when a small pop-up sprinkler delivered the final insult, pelting him with a gentle, saturating drizzle.

Zipper dejectedly scooped up the thank-you note, now ruined. It could be quickly replaced, of course. But he would have to admit his failure to his fellow Rangers. With a heavy sigh and a trail of sogginess, he began to fly slowly toward Headquarters.

* * *

Dale ran excitedly across the park toward his favorite comic shop. He wasn’t worried about the line of humans that was bound to be forming in front of the shop for the event. He knew a secret entrance through the alleyway in the back of the building. He could just sneak a copy of “Captain Kapok and the Acidic Reflux of Doom” into the stack for the artist to sign and be on his way with no one the wiser. He’d even have time to sit at home and read it!

But Dale let his excitement cloud his judgement. (As if his judgement weren’t foggy enough to begin with.) He made the mistake of taking a short cut through the recently constructed skateboard park. And anyone out in a skateboard park that early on a Saturday morning instead of having a good breakfast and watching Disney cartoons had to be up to no good.

“Hey guys!” shouted one boarder. “Blitz the squirrel!”

That stopped Dale in his tracks. “I’m not a squirrel! I’m a YEEEOW!”

A skateboard missed Dale by a fraction of an inch. He turned and ran, only to be cut off by another close pass. Dale reversed course again, and a third board actually clipped him, spinning him like a top and dizzying him beyond any ability to protect himself. With half a dozen skateboarders swooping down on him it was only his zany, unsteady staggering that kept him from being turned to black-and-white striped toothpaste. Abruptly, a near miss spun Dale in reverse from the earlier pass and he came to his senses, such as they were.

“WOW! I better get outta here!” Dale took off on all fours as fast as he could, with a squadron of skateboards in close pursuit, in the opposite direction from the comic shop.

* * *

Chip hurried across the park toward the crime scene where the city police had nabbed one the most elusive jewel thieves ever known, Chuck Sellers, nicknamed the Shadow by the newspapers. Only the Rescue Rangers knew the Shadow secretly worked with a genuine cat burglar, Pete Panther, who was still at large.

Chip wasn’t worried about missing the clean-up of the crime scene. The police chase had involved twenty-eight patrol cars, eleven news helicopters and ended in a pileup that included the stolen armored truck, nine passenger cars and an exploding yogurt tanker. Precious gems and creamery-fresh dairy product covered the street for an entire city block. Such a spectacular finish usually had, like fresh fruit flavoring, the Rescue Rangers at the bottom of it. (Chip felt proud that the humans had done it all without them. They were learning.)

As he skirted past a large oak, he careened headlong into a familiar figure.

“Oh! Excuse me, Mrs. Squirrel. I didn’t see you...”

“Chip! I’m so glad I ran into you!” The frazzled looking rodent had her daughter Bink in tow with one hand and a plastic bagged dress in the other. “Tammy has her recital today and she left her dress at home by mistake.”

“Gee, that’s too bad, but I have...”

“I have just enough time to get there if you’d watch Bink. I won’t be long.”

“But I have a crime scene...”

“Of course, you could take it to her, and then you could stay and hear Tammy’s recital. She’d be sooo thrilled.”

“I can’t do that. There’s a jewel thief...”

“Chip, is it an emergency?”

“It’s a chance to... I mean I could...” He let out a deep sigh. “No. It’s not an emergency.”

“Oh, you’re just wonderful! I’ll tell Tammy I saw you! Bye-bye!”

She streaked away with the speed that only a squirrel late for an appointment could manage. Chip looked down into the smiling face of Bink. Blonde and cute as a button, well mannered and graceful despite her youth. Chip imagined a decade hence her father would be fending off the boys with a harpoon. Only her sister Tammy could rival her, and Tammy, Chip knew, had already put her father on prescription strength Tagament. If there was one thing that made Chip hesitate in advancing his relationship with Gadget, it was the prospect of fatherhood.

“Mr. Chip?” Bink asked sweetly. “Would you play horsey with me?”

“No, Bink.” Chip said dryly, hoisting Bink onto his back. “Lets play donkey instead.”

When Chip knew he’d been had, he could bray with the best of them. “HEEE-HAAAW, HEEE-HAAW, HEEE-HAAW.”

* * *

Gadget lifted off in the RangerPlane from the Headquarters hanger and turned sharply toward the airport. The arrival of the Thunderhead was a milestone in aviation and one that she had the rare opportunity to be personally present for. She planned to take up a vantage point atop one of the hangers near the terminal where she could not only see the new aircraft but also watch the special airshow being held to celebrate.

Gadget intended to enjoy a nice, relaxing flight to the airport on a perfect sunny morning. (And she should have remembered the moment a pilot thinks everything is perfect, the Fates fill the clouds with rocks.) Just as she let out a contented sigh, a powerful downdraft - clear air turbulence - spun the RangerPlane out of control. Gadget wrestled with the wheel and tromped the rudder pedals trying to get the nose back up, but the controls were useless when the very air around her had designs of its own. She became aware of a large rosebush coming fast on her right side just before she hit. The angle of the impact was just odd enough to lift her out of her seat despite her seatbelt and pitch her out of the plane.

“YEEEOWWCH!” Gadget squealed as she hit the rose thorns. “Good Golly! Does everything have it in for my bottom today!?”

She knew it could have been worse. The thorns near the base of the rosebush were large enough to go right through her. And the resilient RangerPlane would be airborne in a couple of minutes. At least it could have been. Gadget heard the disheartening raspberry sound of the balloon deflating. Like herself, it had taken several direct hits from the thorns at its widest point.

* * *

It was a sodden, shnookered, spent and speared group of Rescue Rangers that trudged into Headquarters just before noon. Monty saw Zipper’s washed-out note and gave him a towel without asking what happened. Dale never made it to the dining table, slowly melting to the floor in exhaustion. Chip’s expression clearly forbade any questions. And Gadget’s pointed refusal of a chair made clear she was not in a mood for questions, either.

“Did anyone even make it out of the park?” Chip asked. The silence confirmed his suspicion. “Great. I not only had to ride herd on Bink, but when Tammy and her Mom came home, they insisted on repeating the whole recital for me.” Chip tossed himself into a chair in disgust. “Actually,” he said thoughtfully, “She’s getting very good.”

“Could someone call Guinness for me?” Dale moaned, not moving from the floor. “I think I set a new land speed record.”

“Golly, Dale. At least you made some speed,” Gadget groused. “I spent the whole morning getting the RangerPlane out of a rosebush, patching the balloon and pumping it up by hand.” She absent-mindedly tried to sit and shot upright the moment she touched. “Not to mention other patching.”

Zipper made soft weeping noises as Monty comforted him. “There, there, ol’ pal. We can send you over to Queenie’s with a fresh note this afternoon. At least you can try again.”

Gadget angrily pulled the cloverleaf charm out of her jumpsuit. “Some good luck charm! All we’ve had is the rottenest luck we could possibly have!”

“You said it, Gadget,” Chip said fiercely. “If these had any luck in them, they sure didn’t show it today!”

“Oh, so that’s how it is?” said Monty sternly. “You’re perfectly willing to dismiss the possibility of good luck, but the moment things don’t go right, you want to blame everything on bad luck!”

“WHAT-EVER!” Gadget snapped. “Chip, why don’t you turn on the noon news. At least I can see what the Thunderhead looked like when it landed.”

“Yeah,” said Chip with disgust. “And I can see how the police did at the crime scene.” He went over and clicked on the T.V. set.

“This is Dan Blather with the noon news. This morning, four spectacular mishaps kept emergency crews hopping. Just outside Elysian Park, an insecticide truck overturned, unleashing a tidal wave of termination for any insect...”

Zipper saw the edge of the park in the background of the spill and lawn sprinklers going full blast. He emitted a faint squall and fainted.

“...At a midtown comic book shop, just before a book signing by comic artist Steve Blotchy, a building behind the shop collapsed into a heap of rubble, burying the alley behind the store...”

“Hey!” Dale said. “That’s my secret way into... Oooo, I don’t feel so good. I would have been right there!”

“...During the clean-up following the dramatic capture of jewel thief Chuck ‘The Shadow’ Sellers...”

Chip jumped to his feet, pointing at the screen. “Look! It’s Pete Panther! Right in the middle of the street! If I’d been there I could have...”

“...A street sweeper ran out of control through the middle of the crime scene, sending authorities scrambling...”

They watched agahst as the sweeper ran down the hapless Panther in the midst of the giant yogurt slick.

“EEEEYEWWW” Dale said. “That’s a nasty way to go!”

“Yeegh,” Gadget said. “I don’t think I’m going to want any more yogurt this year. Ick.”

“I would have been right there,” Chip said softly. “Right between Pete and the sweeper.”

“...And at the airport, a tragedy was averted when stunt pilot Tailspin Yeager clipped the roof of a hanger during his performance celebrating the arrival of the Thunderhead airliner. He managed to land safely...”

Gadget watched open-mouthed as the screen showed the airplane’s propeller pulverize the edge of the hanger roof. “I would have been standing right there,” she whispered, turning a bit pale.

“... Despite the potential for disaster, no one was hurt in any of these incidents.”

Chip hit the mute button as Monty stepped up and took Gadget’s charm in his hand. “See here. Only three leaves now. It’s used up its luck.”

The others pulled out their charms. Each of them had only a three leaf shamrock.

“That’s what I meant about the Third Kind of Luck, mateys. There’s good luck, and there’s bad luck. And then there’s the Third Kind. Irish luck. It seems to be the worst kind of bad luck, but it turns out good in the end.”

The others looked a bit sheepish. Monty had been proved right after all.

“Of course,” Monty continued, “it would have been helpful if I’d had one of those charms meself.” He turned around to reveal his entire backside colored a bright kelly green. “I forgot I painted the lawn furniture. Got any paint remover, Gadget-luv?”

“Monty,” Chip said happily, “you go right ahead and believe whatever you want about charms or luck. I think you’re all the good luck the Rescue Rangers need!”

THE END

DISCLAIMER: The Rescue Rangers, Gadget, Chip, Dale, Monterey Jack, Zipper, Queenie, Mrs. Squirrel, Tammy, Bink, are © and T.M. The Walt Disney Company, and they are used here without permission.

All other characters, locations, equipment and situations are © 2001 David D. White. Permission to copy and re-distribute without charge is granted, provided the work is not altered, edited, or otherwise fiddled with. Any similarity to any breakfast cereal or Irish mythology is purely a matter of luck.

www.monikalivingstone.com