Cabriolando, Part 2

So there I am, dusk after dusk, watching my precious flowers wiped out before my eyes. I was on the phone with Debbie when I made my decision to get a gun. There he was, again, this time taking both an alyssum and the new white daisies at the same time. Using serious dingle-dangle words, I threw rocks at him until my entire stash was gone.

"Hang on, Debbie ... I'm going after him." To reach the few feet from my lanai to the perp would require going through the house, up a flight of stairs, around to and down the clubhouse stairs, and over to my yard. Too much time. "I'm going over the rail, Deb."

So I rig a pair of rickety mini ladders, one up and one down, and Debbie's hollering at me to not do it because of the bad-ish fall I'd taken doing that very thing, and I tell her I'll keep talking so that she can call 911 if I go silent, and I go for him (pun pre-excused). He's ducked in, of course, but I stomp and pound and squash his little door into nonexistence. [more dingle-dangle words]


So I order a gun. Few know that I have a marksman ribbon for my dress uniform, from my old Coastie with the Mostie days. I order hunting BBs for it, specially designed for vermin. Five days, the arms dealer tells me. And each of those five days the slimeBag gopher's been coming out for his dusk dance of derision.

To be continued...