As the pandemic persists, the economy taking a dive, many people with less money to spend, I can only speculate what the future holds?
I hadn’t literally thought of the dread of house invasions until I heard of an elderly couple’s experience out in Saskatchewan. On a November day last year, Dan and Jan Smith were having a quiet afternoon at home when they heard a knock on their front door.
There stood a man in a reflective high-visibility vest and a face mask. The masked man said he represented their local electric company and was there to check on the Smith’s fuse box. He was dressed like an electrician and carried a toolbox.
His explanation was, “The electric company had contacted everyone about work being carried out in the neighborhood.” As a result, the residents could expect some short-term power outages.
Dan and Jan led the electric worker into their basement and pointed out the fuse box for him. The man, however, soon started behaving strangely. Jan became skeptical of the man when he repeatedly kept asking her to come over to the fuse box.
She kept backing up and he kept saying: “Come over by me.” He continued, “If you’re home alone, you won’t know what to do.” I thought that was kind of weird,” said Jan.
The man had a good reason for keeping the Smiths downstairs. Apparently, as soon as they had gone to the basement, two other burglars had sneaked into the house through the now unlocked front door.
It was a good plot, but the “electrician’s” accomplices weren’t exactly stealthy. Jan suddenly heard a floorboard above her head creak, as if someone were walking on the floor above them. She signaled her husband that someone else was in the house. They dashed up the stairs, closely followed by the burglar.
Me: What if I was in a similar situation? We often don’t lock the back door. It would a soundless entry – no dog in the house, only cats. If we were in bed for the night and awakened by the burglars, would Sheila be able to protect me? Probably not!
Me: That’s when I would consider brandishing a gun – but I didn’t have one. The many times I had my asked deer-hunting friends to fix me up with one for this very reason, they didn’t. They said I wouldn’t know one end of the gun from the other and would likely shoot myself. It wasn’t funny.
Me: Then I thought of that hand-carved baseball bat that someone made for Sheila years ago. When living in Ottawa, she kept it under her bed for security. She had brought it back to Westmeath, but an exhaustive search didn’t uncover it. Should I buy a hardwood bat or go for a loaded revolver.
When the Smiths got to the top of the basement stairs, they came face to face with the two additional criminals. One of them was carrying a stuffed pillowcase of stolen goodies.
That’s when Dan grabbed his grandfather’s shillelagh (a walking stick doubling as a heavy wooden nightstick should trouble arise).
Me: With few options, I picked up a container of hair Mousse and furtively crept to the living room, Sheila guiding me all the way.
With the shillelagh in hand, Dan went in swinging. He hit the man carrying the pillowcase on the back of the head. The burglars realized that the time had come for them to exit and they ran outside – still carrying the one pillowcase.
Me: I confronted the two thugs. As I let loose with a dangerous looking foam, I shouted, “Toxic”. The two panicked and nearly tripped over themselves getting out of the house. Sheila who was still edging me forward, giving directions said, “Let them go. They won’t bother us again.”
But Dan wasn’t about to let his housebreakers get away scot-free. Barefooted, he chased the men outside to their SUV.
With the men in the car, it was time for the vehicle to face Dan’s wrath. “I managed to get a good swing at the windshield and the rear window. I think I cracked them both,” he said.
Me: After recovering from that traumatic encounter I remarked how stoically I had handled the crisis. Sheila just mumbled, “Yeah, right?”
