Chasing the Hanging Pumpkin

Perhaps it was Buddy-dog moving, or maybe it was not knowing the sound as I slept. Either way, I woke up ever so slightly to listen.

Ah, the wind and the sound of bits of rock showering the side of the house, that’s all. I slipped back into sleep.

How much time passed, I have no idea.

It was the throaty growl of Buddy as he alerted. This time I got up, pulled on my nightshirt, slipped into my tennis shoes, and strapped my pistol and belt to my hip, picking up my mag-lite along the way.

Quietly, Buddy and I went to the sliding glass door and slipped into the back yard I was sure that the mysterious sound had come from the side of the house, and it was more than the sand and rocks whipped up by the wind. Nothing.

Buddy stood at the doorway as I searched the yard and the other side of the house. Again, nothing.

Heading inside, I secured the door and went to the front door. I stepped out onto the front porch and did a quick sweep of the area. I walked to the end of the porch, to the other end of the porch, around my pick-up truck and again found nothing that hinted the slightest to the sound I knew I had heard.

Buddy and I were standing on the porch. I was looking up and down the street, seeing if I could see even a hint of movement or hear the tiniest of sounds when a heavy gust of wind came streaming by. Both the dog and I jumped as from behind us a large thump emitted.

Turning, I pointed my pistol in the direction of the sound and flicked on my flashlight. Found it — my wife’s new green, glittering metal pumpkin welcome sign hanging by the door.

After holstering my sidearm, taking the sign down, and bringing it inside, I slunk back to bed, with Buddy close behind, aware of my silliness.


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