Wednesday, October 10, 2012

The Antics of Small Town Life :)

Why were they after me…and how could I lose them? I thought as the four police cars—lights flashing crazily—came ever closer behind, no doubt in pursuit of me alone.

I ran with all my might around the next corner, making a sharp left off Second Street. A huge white building loomed ahead and I wondered if it could offer me a hiding place.

I’ve been chased before—don’t get me wrong—this is not a new thing, yet I knew I had never been in this much trouble.

Speed is what I was in need of at the moment. My legs were becoming increasingly tired as my feet continued to pound against the hard asphalt pavement. I really just want to go home. How did this get so out of hand?

Upon entering Third Street, I ran through someone’s yard and began to put on full speed as I headed downhill—still in pursuit.

Seeing a clear path before me, I have just began to run uphill when two police cars turn into the street right in front of me—heading me off, making me dart off the roadway and into a small patch of woods to my immediate right. The trees will offer me cover while I plot my next move.

“The fugitive is fleeing into the woods between Third and Fourth Streets, get into position. Over and out…” I overhear one of the officers shout into his radio.

They are not relenting…There must be nearly a dozen police officers after me now.

All this trouble for little old me…for a brief moment, it is almost comical until I spot the first of the officers breaking through the tree line, which sends me running back the way I came.

I have them chasing me in circles as I attempt to sneak past them again—and succeed!

I am sure I’ve lost them, confused and frustrated them even more…but suddenly it is as if they come at me from all directions—from driveways and both ends of the street. I run as close as I can along a tall wooden fence. I see no other option but to run within the open gate of the fence, which I know in the next second is not a good idea.

I hear the wrought iron gates swing closed with a swift squeak as I run to the back corner of the yard and stand face to face with five men, watching my every move—trapping me, but I won't go without a fight.

Later…
I am caught. One of the officers leads me away. I gave them a run for their money. Heavy perspiration dots their brows after our yard skirmish. I see a familiar vehicle with an old red trailer behind it. I know I am heading home.

I hear one of the officers report into his radio that the fugitive was apprehended on Fourth Street and is in custody…he continues, “Here's the description...The suspect is about four hundred pounds with black and white fur, a small set of horns, four hooves, and a lot of aggression.”

[The above story might have been the case if the young cow—being pursued in downtown by police officers, Sheriff’s officers, a state trooper and its owner on horseback—were able to tell her tale. I was merely an observer and photographer of the event, which caused everyone a good laugh after the cow was safely placed behind bars of a cattle-moving trailer after two hours of pursuit.

The whole ordeal resembled the antics of Andy Grifftith and Barney Fife. If the cow had been arrested, I think she could be charged with resisting arrest, fleeing an officer (15 counts), destruction of property (one count), littering (a few counts), aggravated assault of an officer (numerous counts), disturbing the peace, simple escape (many counts), trespassing, and speeding.]

I just felt compelled to share this true glimpse of life in my small town. I know everyone has their own unforgettable and comical moments in their lives...and their places of residence.

What is one antic that sticks out in your mind? You know the one where you just shook your head and thought, "Is this really happening?" Please share. :)

1 comment:

  1. Too funny! And poor cow! Don't you know she was scared out of her wits?

    The funniest one I can think of is about my cat. I was unloading groceries from those anti-environmental plastic bags we all have. One had apparently fallen on the floor when I turned my back and my cat, Oliver, made a bee-line for it. She loves plastic. Somehow she got her chunky little belly wedged in one of the handles. Suddenly she screeched and went running through the house like a cat gone mad. By the time I got her calmed down enough to get the bag off of her, portions of it had already been shredded by her back claws as she tried to rid herself of it. My husband was having a great time laughing so hard at her that he had tears running down his face. I can laugh now, but not at that time. My kitty was traumatized, which I did not find funny.

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