The week turned out to be mostly uneventful. Almost boring. At this point in my life, and at the time of year, however, nothing is boring; it’s more a time of relaxing and enjoying the slow times. The week then was just right for an old, semi-retired guy like me.

Monday morning’s work was sparse. I read a few e-mails, hopped on one call, and reviewed one document. I was finished early and spent the rest of the morning and all afternoon resting in the yard, reading, writing, napping, and eventually, enjoying a mojito. Tuesday was quite similar, except I found time for evening Pickleball. The rest of the week days were carbon copies of the first two days.

For the most part, each day began with a cup of coffee and a writing assignment. I belong to a writing group and our assignment was to write something interesting each day. That turned out to be a problem. My days were so laid back that not much in the way of excitement materialized. No deadlines to meet or doctor appointments to make; and except for one situation on that Friday, not much to write home about.

Friday morning started with a bang; or should I say crash? A car traveling down our road swerved to miss a squirrel and hit our backyard fence. No one was hurt and the damage wasn’t too extensive. I few fence boards that separate our yard from our neighbor’s yard and the street were broken. My neighbor Dave and I heard the commotion and went out into our yards to investigate. I peered over the fence into the street and spied the car, an older Toyota Camry, on the grass meridian. A young woman, no more than twenty-years-old, sat behind the wheel. She was visibly shaken and in tears. I jumped the fence and approached the open driver window.

“Are you alright?” I asked.                                                                                

She responded between sobs. “Yes. I’m not injured. But I hit your fence and I think I ran over a squirrel.”

I surveyed the damage as Dave approached. Katie, the woman in the car, slowly climbed out of the driver’s seat. Dave happened to have a clean tissue in his pocket and offered it to Katie. He spoke next.

“I’m glad you’re safe. Can’t say the same for the squirrel.” He pointed toward the fence at the newly deceased rodent. “I wouldn’t fret too much about him. We have too many squirrels around here. They’re nuisances.”

Katie accepted the tissue and wiped away her tears, smearing her makeup. “My husband’s going to be mad when he hears about this. We’ll have to file a claim and our insurance will go up again.”

Dave and I agreed that there wasn’t much damage to the fence nor her car. “What do you think Dave? We can fix the fence. And the car barely has a scratch.”

Dave agreed and we assured Katie that we don’t want any money and won’t report the accident. I helped her by slowly backing her car off the grass and into the street. She thanked us and offered us twenty dollars.

Dave smiled. “We don’t need any money. I’m sure that between Gabby and me, we have enough old boards laying around to fix the fence. It’ll give us something to do this week.”

Katie thanked us again, climbed back into her car, and slowly drove off.

Dave and I checked out the damage one more time, swore we would fix the fence during the weekend, and parted ways. As he was heading toward his house, I yelled out, “I’ll make a temporary fix this morning. Mainly to keep Howard out of the street and out of your yard.”

Howard is my nine-year-old terrier mix. He stands about a foot-and-a-half. The broken boards in the fence created a gap that was approximately a foot-and-a-half high. Howard loves to explore and I thought it would be a good idea to keep him from exploring Dave’s yard or the rest of the neighborhood. Retreating to the garage, I found a few two-by-fours and patched the fence as best I could. The bottom of the damaged section could be moved, but only with determination, and Howard usually wasn’t that determined.

The Friday incident was definitely the highlight of the week. Saturday and Sunday paled in comparison. For me, both were lazy days that consisted of drinking coffee, writing, reading, more napping, and more mojitos. Late Saturday afternoon, just as I was returning from a walk with Howard, I saw Dave and his young daughter Jane in the backyard. Jane, a bubbly young girl, played with her pet rabbit Floppy. Floppy was a tired, old lop-eared hare. Floppy didn’t hop much anymore. She mostly sat around the yard nibbling on grass. The three of us chatted for a while. Jane put Floppy back in her cage, she and Dave said goodbye and went into the house for dinner, and I retired to my easy chair. Another quiet day was in the books.

Monday morning started a new week. With it came an unexpected end to the previous week. I rose early and let Howard into the backyard to get exercise and do what dogs do after an evening in the house. I made a cup of coffee and sat down at the dining room table. I opened my laptop and began to read the day’s news. Twenty minutes later, I checked the back door to see if Howard was done. Howard sat on the back porch. Mud covered him from head to tail. He had something in his mouth. Taking a closer look, I realized he had Floppy in his mouth. Floppy was also covered in mud. And quite dead.

“Drop it!” I yelled. Big mistake. Howard dropped what was left of Floppy at my feet and ran into the house, scattering mud as he went. I stood there in disbelief. Howard must have shown enough determination that morning to move the temporary boards that held the fence together. He must have seen Floppy in her cage, somehow opened it, and decided to play with Floppy. Damn dog.

I knew Jane would be heartbroken. I also knew Dave would hold me accountable if he found out Howard was responsible for Floppy’s death. My first task then was to reassemble the fence so no sign of entry into Dave’s yard from our yard was noticeable. I picked up the cold, muddy carcass from my porch and took poor old Floppy into the kitchen. I had to come up with a plan to somehow get Floppy back into their yard in a way that deflected all suspicion from Howard and me.

I cleaned up Floppy first. After washing her in the sink, I borrowed my wife’s hairdryer and dried Floppy’s fur. Other than being dead, she looked pretty good. Next, I located Howard, dragged him into the front yard, out of sight from Dave, and gave that dirty dog a bath, something he hates more than cats. With both animals clean, I sat down to plot my next course of action. I decided that I would sneak into Dave’s yard in the middle of the night and place Floppy back in her cage. Jane would find Floppy the next morning, which would be sad, but at least she nor Dave would suspect Howard of foul play.

Late that evening, I climbed through the broken fence, careful not to make any noise. I gently placed Floppy in the empty cage, retraced my steps back to the fence, climbed under, and fixed the fence to make it look like no one had gone through. I thought to myself, “Howard is not going out in the morning until this whole situation is over.”

Tuesday was quiet. No sign of Dave nor Jane. Howard stayed by my side the entire day. That evening we went for a walk. As we approached the yard, I saw Dave standing in his driveway.

“Good evening Dave. How are you?” I asked, hoping to avoid a long conversation.

“I’m doing alright. A little sad and a lot angry.” he replied.

“What’s up?”

“Jane’s rabbit Floppy died this weekend. Jane has been sad all day.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” I stated. “I know how close she was to Floppy. What happened?”

“She died Saturday night, probably of old age. We buried her that night. That’s not the worst thing though.” he added.

“What could be worse than having your pet die?” I asked.

Dave looked quite angry when he replied. “Jane was just starting to come to terms with the loss of Floppy. Then this morning, we went into the backyard. There was Floppy. Some sick son-of-a-bitch must have dug her up and put her body back into its cage. I better not find out who would be that heartless.”

I’m hoping the coming week will be quiet and boring. Maybe I’ll fix the fence.