So I’m chowing down on breakfast whilst browsing through The Economist — the single best general-interest periodical for people with functioning brain cells, IMHO — when I hear Ruby launch into a yap-fest: YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP…from…huh? From the front of the house????
Leap to my feet, race through the open back door into the yard, jumping into an old pair of clogs on the way, and fly into the back yard, hollering RUBY! RUBY!!
Round the corner of the house at a dead run and see Ruby bounding cheerily toward me…through the open side gate!
WTF, indeed! That thing has a double-cylinder dead bolt, and it gets locked every time the gate is pulled shut.
Love up the dog, lure her back into the house, then go outside to figure out what that’s all about.
Well, the doorknob-like handle on this gate has never been real efficient. Its little latch bolt — the tongue-like thing that fits into the strike plate and holds the door shut — wants to slip out of its assigned nesting spot, though it will stay put with some coaxing.
But the thing isn’t locked, and I know I locked it (it’s a double-cylinder deadbolt, so locks with a key from both sides). Because I never walk away from a door or a gate without locking it and checking to be sure it’s locked…for reasons that have been described floridly on this very blog.
So, yea verily WTF!?! Did somebody pick the lock open?
Unlikely. Why bother when there are so many juicier targets all around? Besides, it was raining last night. No burglar or bum in his right mind would be tromping around in that.
But o’course, the “in his right mind” part is operative. Hmm.
At any rate, thank the heavens Ruby had a nice little bark-fest while she was exploring the front yard, probably occasioned by some other dog owner walking their pal past the shack. And thank the heavens (x 1016) that she came to call.
It rained enough during the night to turn the backyard’s quarter-minus into slush, so now the kitchen floor is covered with mud.
But at least the little dog did not get hit by a car, creamed by a passing neighbor’s pit bull, or stolen.
And NOW…yea verily… I don’t even get through this short blog post when a helicopter — a big one, sounds like the military copters that emerge periodically from the Reserve base down on McDowell Road — comes ROARING over the top of the house, at tree-top level. Holy shit! Who are THEY after?
No one, evidently. He continues on, westward ever westward, so probably it’s a military exercise in how to chase down snipers in civilian residential areas. Ducky.
We’ve gotta get outta this place…