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I Express Myself Through Writing

Maybe it was some kind of chemical warfare testing by the military. Maybe some kind of mold grew with unusual enthusiasm in the water supply. I will never know. But one summer people started acting - not weird, that's normal - bizarrely.

The first incident occurred between my husband, who had his own brand of bizarritude, and a girl on horseback. He was out weed-whacking when a girl on a handsome chestnut gelding came galloping up through our backyard, the horse's hooves kicking up clods of grass.

He moved to block her way and she drew up, eying him defiantly. "What?"

"This is my yard," he said. "Your horse is tearing it up."

She shrugged. "Horses do that."

"Yes, but this is my yard."

Both horse and girl tossed their heads. "I can ride anywhere I want to."

"No, actually, you can't. This is my yard."

Wherever the girl was from, property rights were not a topic much discussed.

"So what? It's a free country."

Have you ever noticed that scolding people only works if they're the sort of people who care if they get scolded? She wasn't that sort.

I was over by the garage watching this byplay with interest. She was reacting so unexpectedly that my husband couldn't quite work up a good head of steam.

"Look," he told her. "I don't want to call the police, but if you ride your horse through my yard again, I will."

"Knock your socks off," she answered cheerfully and tapped her heels against the horse's flanks. They trotted off, kicking up clods as they went.

He swung around and looked at me, as if to ask, "What just happened here?"

You met somebody you couldn't scare.

Next, it was the guy with the beagle. We had two dogs and one Sunday morning just at sunup, they went mad, barking and growling. I got up and went downstairs to find them dashing from window to window, trying to see whatever they smelled or heard. Being country dogs, they were accustomed to skunks and possums and deer and turkey and sometimes bears, so this was something else.

I went back upstairs, got my robe and slippers and came down again. I stepped out on the porch and saw a short balding man with a beagle on a leash, striding along the stretch of woods beside our house.

"Can I help you with something?" I called to him.

"No, thanks. I"m fine."

I paused. Now I knew how my husband felt talking to the horse chick. "Sir, this is private property."

He waved his hand to indicate he knew that and wasn't contesting it. "I know. But he saw a bunny."

"What?"

"I'm training my beagle and he saw a bunny run down your yard. So I took him to find it."

"Sir, it's 6 am and you've woken up my entire household, including my dogs, who actually live here."

"Okay," he smiled and walked away with his beagle.

I went back to bed.

The next Sunday, same guy, same dog, for all I know, same bunny. This time I went out to talk to him.

"Let me ask you something. There are lots of rabbits around here. Why are you so focused on OUR bunny?"

He shrugged helplessly. "This is where he sees bunnies."

I took a short step closer. "But, you see, if you don't walk him by here, he won't SEE our bunny. We can continue sleeping. Our dogs won't be upset. I won't have to come out and holler at you. Train your dog somewhere else."

He left.

Third Sunday in a row, our dogs exploded at 6 am. This time I was more prepared and hustled into jeans and a sweater and stuck my feet into my slippers and went out to confront the beagle guy.

"Morning."

He smiled. "Good morning! Gonna be a pretty day."

"I'm glad of that, but I didn't want to know it yet. I wanted to be still sleeping. You're the reason I'm not still sleeping, and you want to know what I'm going to do about it?"

He wasn't sure. "Uh, okay."

"If this EVER happens again, I'm going to wake up my husband. I haven't done that yet because I value human lives, even yours. Do you understand what I'm telling you?"

"Yes, ma'am, I think I do."

"Good. Then that's settled."

He didn't come back.

The third in the series of three Candid Camera stunts was the flower thieves.

We had two driveways, one that we used as a driveway at the left side of the house as you faced it. The other was more of an apron on the other side of the house in front of the attached garage, where we didn't park our cars because it was too full of broken-down lawn mowers.

One afternoon, my husband was weed-whacking around the cement apron by the garage. I was painting the mailbox, at the end of the other driveway.

A dark green van pulled up BETWEEN us, a woman and a young boy jumped out of the van and began yanking phlox out of the bank across from the house. If you're not familiar with phlox, they are a plant that spreads to cover more territory. Phlox seeds and phlox plantings can be found in nearly every discount store, building store, greenhouse, in racks at the grocery store. They are not some rare hybrid orchid kept locked up in some rich guy's solarium.

My husband's weed-whacker throttled down and I heard him yell "Hey!" and turned to see the woman and the boy, his arms loaded with uprooted phlox, hurry back to the van and drive away.

We both stood there, mouths agape, and watched them go.

I noticed a piece of paper on the road and walked over and picked it up. It was an envelope. With an address.

Later that day I took a little drive and found the address, back a dirt road three miles from our house. We didn't know the people.

I wanted to pull up more phlox, drive over and plant "Thou Shalt Not Steal" in their front yard, but nobody would let me.

Seriously, if I ever have phlox again, and you want some, just ask.
GJOFJ361-69, M
This is hilarious
SW User
馃槃 Thank you for sharing.
PoetryNEmotion56-60, F
A lovely story, Mamapolo. Thanks for sharing. People are so freaking strange.
Mamapolo201670-79, F
[@412752,PoetryNEmotion] They are, but that's what makes them so interesting.

 
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