It was a dark and stormy night. Actually it was a sunny afternoon. I was inside the house; my husband was in the front yard tackling weeds.
He opened the front door and called out, "Hey, did you hear that?"
"What?" I said which told him everything he needed to know, mainly that no, I had not heard whatever it was that brought him to the door.
"Gun shots! Down the street," his excitement barely masked.
We both made our way out to the driveway. Looking down the street, only three houses down on our little cul-de-sac where the houses are very close together I hasten to add, four Sheriff deputy cars had pulled onto the street and were sitting in front of Tom's house.
Here's where I need to back up to three or so weeks ago.
No, that's not right. I need to back up a year or so ago to when the guy to the back of our cul-de-sac purchased a flock of geese. On a small lot with a falling down ribbon-like fence, pure mud surface with a shed and a corral in the back, the lot keeps three, sometimes four forlorn horses...and now a flock of geese.
Geese are not clean creatures, nor are they quiet, nor are they territorial unless you admit that where ever they wander is their territory. This farm-like property backs upon Tom's. Tom had taken to feeding carrots and apples to the horses, feeling great pity for their sorry estate, but the geese placed the last straw on Tom's back.
Did I mention how very carefully Tom has cultivated his landscaping and backyard? Tom tried many methods for keeping the geese off his property. He had words with the landowner. Tom had a dog but a canine much smaller than a goose the dog was not about to get involved in a neighborhood dispute. He knew the danger. The dog was now staying inside the house. Tom told my husband one day, "Jim, I'm about to lose my Christianity over this." We thought he was joking.
Until the sheriff showed up.
I am not proud that my first thoughts were that Tom had shot either the property owner or the geese.
But, like Paul Harvey would say, here is the end of the story.
When the shots rang out, the neighbor across our street from Tom looked out his window to see what was up. He saw a stranger walking down Tom's driveway carrying a weapon in each hand. The stranger casually tossed the guns in his car and drove off. He called 9-1-1.
And really, might I add, this is one of the ironies of living in southern Indiana, where carrying weapons in public whether it's deer season or not or into the public libraries is quite within the law. You just can't hide the weapons. Last newspaper report had a guy suing the city because he was arrested for carrying a weapon into the zoo. (And people wonder what ever happened to the Emperor Penguin!) But I digress.
We ran into Tom this morning. That is another story. We have been curious. We have not seen Tom since the incident. We have watched for an obituary and/or a police blotter report, all to no avail. We did know that Tom and his wife ate breakfast at Hardee's...every morning. So we got up early and stalked them to Hardee's. There they were sitting with the stranger across from them like they'd been good friends forever. Turns out they have been.
The friend, now known by his Christian name George, had come over on that day to show Tom two antique pistols, the same kind that had killed President Lincoln. When asked, "Do they work?" the answer was given through demonstration.
We are thinking that what is shot into the air must at some time return to earth. A bullet traveling downward like that could kill something.
"Firearms expert Julian Hatcher studied falling bullets and found that .30 caliber rounds reach terminal velocities of 300 feet per second (90 m/s) and larger .50 caliber bullets have a terminal velocity of 500 feet per second (150 m/s). A bullet traveling at only 150 feet per second (46 m/s) to 170 feet per second (52 m/s) can penetrate human skin,[9] and at 200 feet per second (60 m/s) it can penetrate the skull. A bullet that does not penetrate the skull may still result in an intracranial injury.
Like your mother always told you: Don't come crying to me if someone gets their eye shot out.
And that's what I think about it.
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