Friday night, D and I stopped by the build site just to see the progress and take some pictures (which I still have not uploaded!) and D had noticed then that some of our newly delivered goods had been moved, re-arranged, and a couple things were missing. A quick call to Bob the Builder informed us that he had done none of those things, so 2+2= a thief.
D was not happy.
Then on Saturday, Bob the Builder called to inform us of two pretty disturbing things: 1, the keys to his skid loader were missing and 2, part of our fence had been tamped down. So this told us that not only did we have a thief lurking about… he was planning on coming back.
D was really unhappy.
D then taught me several lessons about what it means to be a man. Men work hard for the things they have. Men also protect what’s theirs. Real men live in the land of the free and the home of the brave and shoot guns and eat rusty nails for breakfast. And he will be gosh-darned if some crap bag, sissy criminal is going to help himself to the things that HE worked so hard to get.
Then he spit on the ground and kicked the dirt.
So Bob the Builder, D, and D’s buddy, Big J went out at dark and hid in the weeds with their *ahem* provisions, to wait on the yeller-belly to return. After about six hours of sitting and waiting and spitting sunflower seeds, they heard “boing, boingggg, BOIIINNGGG”, which was the butthole cutting through our freaking fence.
So now D has to fix fence, too. I mentioned he was unhappy, yes?
So the no-good-coward makes his way over to our stuff. Which, I should mention is BIG stuff at the moment! This is our lumber, I-beams, floor joists, etc., so this is a rather ambitious piece of poop thief.
Once he gets to our goods, he begins tearing the wrapping off of everything until D, as he put it, “saw red” and popped up with his flashlight and yelled something along the lines of (the G-rated version) “Don’t move, you piece of crap!”
But the piece of crap did move. He hollered back, “please, mister, please!” and took off running towards and over the creek. So the three boys took off running after him.
But Bob the Builder has a set of bad knees, so he couldn’t catch him. We call Big J “Big J” for a reason, plus, at some point in the chase he swallowed his chew and had to stop to puke, so he couldn’t catch him. D was the closest, but tripped and fell into a pile of back-fill and broke his thumb, so he couldn’t catch him.
(I’m sorry, but LOL!)
And so the slime bag got away.
And then they called the police and gave their description and blah, blah. They assured us that this is not normal for the area, and I hope they’re right.
I hope he was scared badly enough that he won’t return. I also hope he told all his friends that some deranged rednecks ambushed him, and that they won’t try their chances either.
In the meantime, I take comfort in the knowledge that the creek he ran through is thick with locust trees that grow thorns the size of my pinkie finger.
I hope one lodged in his eyeball and is festering.