Two nights ago, around midnight, two fire trucks and three police cars stopped on my street and a bunch of emergency personnel went into the house two doors down. I didn’t see any signs of a fire, and no one was running towards the house or away from it, and I didn’t see anyone being taken out on a stretcher. And I watched a good long time to make sure. (In my new life here, I am Mrs. Lynde.)
What a good thing that our local paper prints a police blotter each week. Last week the police were mostly being called in to deal with raccoon bites, but this week my street will be on there and I can find out what was going on. Though possibly it was just another raccoon.
I remember when I used to hear a siren and roll over and go back to sleep until the next one. Now it’s enough to draw me out of bed for a good half-hour. Suburban living, eh?
Seriously, though. Those raccoons are a real menace. One of them tried to eat a chihuahua last week.