A couple weeks ago I stayed home with a nightmare of a headache. I woke feeling like a huge screw had been drilled into my brain and every move I made killed. So I slipped into my favorite sweats, said goodbye to my boyfriend, and cuddled up in the living room with the dogs and my DVR – no makeup, no bra, and a remote is the perfect recipe for a Mental Health Day.
Blue noticed him first and started barking, the other two barked in reaction to Blue, then in earnest when they saw him approaching the door. I ducked down – did he see me? – scooted up the stairs – damn that pretty window in our front door! – and ran upstairs.
A LITTLE BACKGROUND…
I live with a cop. I get the pleasure (this isn’t sarcasm) of hearing about really cool cases in detail. The upside is that criminals aren’t that bright; the downside is that I don’t trust strangers.
So I went upstairs, not to hide, but to check out the main road. During the week, would be burglars will park a car on the road and pretend that it’s disabled. They go from door to door to see whose home. If you’re home…
“Sorry to bother you, our car broke down and I was wondering if I can borrow a screw driver.”
If you’re not home (like last September at our house), they walk around your house, checking doors and windows and eventually squeeze through the doggy door. Our 2011 burglar was a small, methed out woman and her girlfriend.
AND THE STORY CONTINUES…
The man approaching my door was on crutches. Harmless? I don’t think so. It’s obviously a ruse (an action or plan which is intended to deceive someone) to get me to drop my guard and let him in. A mid-morning home invasion; just great! I saw his black truck on the road and hit the panic button as I was dialing 911.
I was a little on edge and apologized for being rude; I wonder how often people do that. I mentally patted myself on the back for giving such a thorough description of the perp and his vehicle, and then I saw it…and said “ahhhh, F*&%.”
I stood upstairs watching him out our bedroom window, swearing over and over to the 911 operator. I had to fill her in. “Should I tell the deputies not to come?” she asked. “Nope, I’m going to have to explain this one in person.” We disconnected and my boyfriend called. The radio was blowing up about our trespasser. “Are you okay?”
I cringed at the sound of his concern and wondered how long it would last when I filled him in on the story.
I explained everything to him and there was a long pause while I rushed around the bathroom putting on a bra, nicer sweats, makeup and combing my hair.
Hey, I’m about to tell a group of deputies about a one legged man, in flannel pajamas, who has a donkey. The least I can do is not show up at the door looking like a lunatic with raging PMS.
My boyfriend’s long pause ended with “a donkey?” As I sat on the phone trying to convince my boyfriend that I hadn’t lost my mind, I could hear him shaking his head and trying not to laugh. Then he said “I’m never going to live this down.” Him? What about me? Cops are ruthless and have long memories.
That’s when the deputies showed up. Two in cars, one on a motorcycle; three deputies to deal with a one legged man, in flannel pajamas, walking with a donkey. After I explained the situation, I got the pleasure of the long pause as two of the deputies took in my story.
I don’t think they did. My boyfriend called back and I overheard voices on his radio talking about the donkey. They found it up the street and they located the one legged man in the flannel pajamas. His donkey tends to wander and he was just trying to track him down; he was doing me to courtesy of letting me know why he was on our property and I called the police on him.
OMG, I’m such a B$%(@! That poor man. One of the deputies attempted to make me feel better by sharing that this guy has had a run in with police a few times. That worked a little. I appreciate them not openly laughing at me. A week later I had to laughed when Odi and the Sargeant had a back and forth about donkeys for my benefit.
I saw the guy again and he glared at me. At least that’s how I felt. I should take him a pie. I’m the worst neighbor ever; but the dogs did a great job being scary!
With Mommy Bloggers being all the rage, Kimberly Gauthier writes about dogs and being a Fur Mom. She don't have kids, so she's been on the receiving end of the "it'll happen" statements and looks of pity when people realize that she's made it to the big FOUR OH without conceiving. Fur Mommy Bloggers have a voice too and Gauthier intends to profile her journey with "The Fur Mom" feature on the Girl Power Hour blog. She says, we spoil our kids, we worry about nutrition and we schedule play dates...just as fur mom's do. And let's face it, puppy classes are a lot less spendy than private school. Follow Kimberly on Twitter at @TheFurMom
* This post is from a Girl Power Hour featured blogger. It is not written, edited or endorsed by Girl Power Hour. The authors are solely responsible for content.
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