By Hugh Cartwright
With a loaded pistol at my hip, I creep into the garden at dusk and crouch among the bushes.
Unaware of me, local teens scream in the back lane. Suddenly the shouting dies down, the bushes part, and there he is, steely-eyed, five feet away.
I raise my pistol. He turns and dashes off.
With a smile, I retreat to the house, knowing tomorrow will provide another chance; battle will resume.
I refill my water pistol, ready for the raccoon’s next foray into my fruit-filled garden. Each year we share mutual respect, well-matched tussles, and equal shares of my blueberry crop.
Good story. I enjoyed this.
…and so did the lady with the water pistol. Thanks for your comment.
Nice read… kudos…
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Cool :)…
Wow ! Very well written !
Reminds me of the story telling that I used to love to hear as a kid.
Very nice take that brought a smile as I reached the ending.
So nice, kudos!