Lynnie and I did a lot of unpacking and cleaning yesterday. We organized the projects room and hung more paintings on our walls. I did some editing of my next book and Lynnie did a computer job. By evening, we were both tired.
Full moon rising over sunset
After dinner we relaxed with a Milk Stout, in front of some mindless TV.
Suddenly Reba and Raleigh leaped up and ran to the door. Headlights swung across the front windows and the dogs set to barking. Peering out, we could see a car stopped near the garage. I flipped on the outside lights and the car just sat there. No one got out.
Now, keep in mind we are on over ten acres, up a dirt road, with only two other houses above us. Our own driveway is long, ending at a closed gate.
“Who do you think it is?” I said. Lynnie didn’t answer, she just marched out the door and up to the gate to check it out. I stayed with the dogs.
The driver kept his window up and, as Lynnie approached, gee-hawed the car around, turning back up the driveway; but rather than go on to the road, he turned up the lane that dead ends at our big red barn.
I poked my head out the door. “What’s going on!” I called.
“Call 911!” Lynnie yelled.
“What?” I said, going out onto the front porch.
I ran into the house to get my phone, my heart in my throat. “What am I supposed to tell them?” I hollered back. “What’s going on?”
“Tell ’em someone is trespassing on our property, and they won’t leave,” she shouted. “And I’m gonna get my GUN!” She emphasized the last word.
Okay, Lynnie doesn’t really have a gun—well, we have a gun; it was left here inside a small, built-in safe in our closet, but we have never used it and there are no bullets. Of course the guy in the car didn’t know that…
By now, I was on the phone with the 911 operator who kept saying, ‘You’re breaking up—I can’t hear you.”
In between repeating the address, I’m screaming at Lynnie, “Get back here! Don’t be following them, for crying out loud!” Given there were no lights on at the barn, all I could see were the taillights of the car, way the hell up by the barn and hear Lynnie yelling she’s getting her gun.
When the 911 operator, finally could hear where we live, she kept asking me what I could see. I told her all I could see were the taillights of the car. I moved the phone away and yelled at Lynnie again to “Get back here!”
At this point, the guy in the car started to hollering, “Don’t shoot me, don’t shoot me. I’m lost!!”
“Well then, stop and back the hell up and I will show you how to get out of here!” Lynnie hollers back.
Finally, the guy backed up to the drive. He told Lynnie he took a wrong turn—that he’s a car salesman delivering a car to an address on the next ridge over.
My thought? Sure—in the dead of night, without a follow car to take him back to town? Right.
The 911 Operator was calling into the phone, “Are you alright? Is everything OK?”
With the guy finally headed down the driveway and off the property, I replied. “We’re OK. They’re leaving.”
When Lynnie got back to the house, her face was spread with a big grin. “The kid in the car was scared to death. He really thought I was gonna shoot him!” She laughed. “That was fun!”
I imagine if that guy writes a blog entry about the events of the evening, it would probably be called, “I almost got shot tonight!”
Little does he know!