On We Go!

I've been kind of absent lately. The move, the basement flood, the oh-so-dead business, taxes. Yanno, the usual.

Last night the dogs wake me up at 2 am, which is fairly usual. Actually, it's the cats' fault. The cats wake the dogs, who then wake me. So I get up to take them out. Don't want accidents. It's dark. Overcast. A light breeze is blowing. I'm standing in my yard beneath a leafless tree. The dogs are circling, doing their business. And there it is. A car coming up the street. I marvel at how busy the real burbs are at night. No matter what hour I take the dogs out, a car will pass.

Last night was different. There I am, in my pajamas, legs entangled in dog leashes, when the car slows to a crawl. A cop car. Foomp! The spotlight is aimed right at me. The dogs stop and stare. I stare through the glare. Geez, can't even take the dogs potty in peace! The spotlight scans my yard and focuses in on a stray girl's bike that turned up in my yard a few days ago. Thought a kid had gone home for dinner and forgot it, so we parked it near the curb, thinking she'd be back to get it. No such luck.

"Is this your bike?" the cop asks.

"No." I tell him how we found it lying between our cars Monday when we left for work, and my theory.

"Oh," he says. "Got a minute?"

Well, I'd really like to go back to bed. Guess he doesn't realize that I'm not truly awake. At this point the dogs have had it and start growling and barking. "Let me put them in the house," I say.

Once outside, the cop asks if I know any teenaged boys. Nope, we just moved in. I've seen some around, but don't know their names or where they live. He asks if I have kids, and I tell him yes, two. I'm wondering if some busybody neighbor has noticed my kids don't go to school and I mentally prepare for the interrogation.

"Do a Lotus and a Trixie live here?"

Now I'm confused. Lotus has taken Trixie (the dog) for numerous walks around the neighborhood. But how would the cop know this? I tell him Lotus is my daughter and Trixie is the dog. Then he asks if I have a son. Yup.

"Is his name Ryan Crest?"

"Nope. Buzz." Lightbulbs are beginning to go on.

"We found a skateboard..."

Now light is dawning. "Oh," I say. "Buzz wrote 'Ryan C-Crest (as in Seacrest of American Idol fame) is stupid' on the bottom of his skateboard." The skateboard Buzz (who is meticulous about his things) hasn't been able to find since Monday. The skateboard that bears a family label (like these) that has been scratched in Buzz's attempts at grinding.

The cop smiles. "How old is Buzz?"

"Eight."

"Eight?" His smile fades. "I thought he'd be a teenager."

"You have his skateboard?" I tell him how it's been missing for a few days and how I thought Buzz took it to his dad's. "Where is it?"

Apparently Buzz's skateboard is being held as evidence in a string of car burglaries. The cops were hoping that the owner of the skateboard was one of the teen perps seen fleeing the scene of an attempted car burglary when the homeowner surprised them.

Now the lights are glaring and it's not the search lights. Buzz always keeps the skateboard in the house, OR in the CAR! I tell the cop this. He's still clearly disappointed. "Gee," he says. "This throws a whole wrench into our theory. Instead of finding the perp, we find another car burglary victim."

He sighs. He says he'll take the bike back to the station. We can get Buzz's skateboard back if we go to the property division at the police station (which, btw, is only open mornings 4 days a week. Days I work. Of course).

Now the mystery of the appearing bicycle and disappearing skateboard are solved, while the car burglary caper is not. And I'm still standing on the damp lawn in my pajamas, talking to a cop who has eaten a few too many donuts.

All because of those dang cats. See what interesting things you can learn when you walk the dog in your PJs at 2 am?