Those of you who've been around my blog, or who've met me, know that I talk a lot about living down a dirt road in a single wide. You've heard about raccoons fighting on the roof at night and bobcats under the house. You've endured tales of my epic morning battle with a skunk ( I lost), and my fight with UPS and FedEx drivers who won't venture down my road. You may even have seen the rigged up Internet connection that I endured for three months before the neighbor ran over it with a lawn mower. Today, however, takes the cake.
I have a neighbor (down here "neighbors" can live up to three miles away) who has a semiautomatic weapon that he's very proud of. So proud of, in fact, that he shares the noise with us as late as nine PM. Yes, the police know him. Yes, he still target shoots at nine PM.
I was curled up in my bedroom on my bed reading and listening to the latest round of target practice when I heard a loud "thunk" from the general vacity of the outer wall of the adjoining bathroom. That was my first hint. The second was that target practice suddenly seemed to be over.
After I felt safe to do so, I went outside and looked, but was looking on the wrong wall. This afternoon I walked out to get my mail (1/4 mile to the mailbox out on the main road) and saw the hole plain as day on the front of the house. They shot my ^%%$ing house! Ten feet from where I was sitting!
I'm not a violent person, but right now I'm having serious thoughts about what I'd like to do with my neighbor's play toy. Suddenly I feel like I'm starring in my own, "You might be a redneck" joke.