In case you don’t hear from me for a while, I wanted to say how much I appreciate you all.
You see, according to the man who called me yesterday, police will be at my door this morning to haul me to jail for some legal offense from the Department of Legal Actions from the U.S. Treasures. (No, you didn’t misread that.)
I made him repeat it four times just to be sure I got it all down correctly. It was hard to understand his broken English.
He assured me repeatedly if I didn’t give him the name of my attnories (took me a sec to decipher that one), I would be facing jail time.
When I asked what it was regarding, he told me he didn’t know and I would have to talk to his “superior advisors.” So I asked for the “superior advisors” phone number, which he provided, and name. I’m pretty sure he randomly rattled off all 26 letters of the alphabet.
And as I sit here typing this, the scammers are leaving me another message that I must take immediate action or face a huge “legal mess.”
I hope I get my hair combed before the police break down the door.
Since I’ll no doubt be in the hoosegow for goodness only knows how long, I thought I’d share a few last parting photos and a book teaser with you.
This guy hangs out in the neighbor’s pasture behind our back fence. He and I have been working on forming a friendship, but the cats have been whispering secrets to him, so he’s a little hesitant to befriend the crazy woman with the camera. He did stand still long enough for me to snap a few photos the other day.
If I’m going to be locked away, you might as well get a little teaser for The Christmas Calamity, so here goes:
“To whom were you speaking in such a harsh tone?”
The woman narrowed her eyes his direction then released a beleaguered sigh. “Not that it is any of your business, Mr. Guthry, but I was yelling at the wagon. I call it Gramps.”
Perhaps the woman wasn’t so much fascinating as she was crazy. Swiftly concluding he’d best leave her alone, Arlan backed toward his horse.
Convicted by his own scrupulous sense of right and wrong, he knew the woman needed his assistance, whether she admitted it or not.
Resigned to helping her, he walked Orion to the back of the wagon and looped the reins around a handle near the door then returned to where she stared at the damaged axle.
Once again bending down by the wheel, he inspected it. No wonder it broke. Not a single spoke matched and it appeared wire and wishes had held the wheel together for far too long.
“I say, madam, this wheel looks as though you’ve used chair spindles for some of the spokes.” Arlan ran his hand over a spoke that snapped in two, most likely when the axle broke.
“I do what’s necessary to keep my wagon on the road.”