Lauren was out all day on Monday. I was at work all day. When I got home the neighbor across the street came to tell me that the police were at my house for a while, around noon. I assumed that another neighbor, probably someone complaining about noise and permits due to the crew installing our screen room, called the police.
I did not think too much about it until our next-door neighbor to the left, a well meaning but somewhat nosey and opinionated couple, came to our house to tell us about what transpired.
Apparently, someone on the street behind us shot a Red Tailed Hawk and it landed and died in our backyard. The crew working on our house called the police because they heard the gunshot and saw the bird fall. The police drove around the neighborhood and asked questions of some of the neighbors but did not find anything or anyone.
What the Fuck? Someone is shooting a gun in our neighborhood? Towards my house? Seriously what the fuck is wrong with people? When I talked to the foreman on the crew of workers he told me it sounded like a .22. I have to rely on his assessment because although I have had my fair share of gunfire, I cannot tell one from the next (which is hard to do when you are in the fetal position hiding under a bar misdialing 911). Plus I was not there.
When our well meaning but somewhat nosey and opinionated neighbors were telling us the story they asked, very seriously, somewhat accusingly, like I would know the answer, “Do you know who would own a gun in our neighborhood?”
I looked at them and said, “It’s the South. Everyone owns guns. It would be easier to ask who doesn’t own one.”