Picture this … a sunny Sunday afternoon. Everyone’s sleepy from Sunday dinner. Grandkids are sprawled on the floor with their John Deeres and Internationals, making vroom-vroom noises. Grandparents lament politics and listen for the baby who is sleeping upstairs. The girls are gathered in the kitchen … swapping recipes and discussing the latest must-reads. The boys? They’ve migrated to the porch. Rocking chairs creak as they stretch out for a lengthy digression.
A warning cry goes out. Conversation comes to a halt. Men jump to attention. Binoculars are seized. Rifles are drawn. It’s a red alert and apparently they were prepared.
You’d think we were being invaded. But no …
… nothing so serious. Nothing so devastating. Nothing so urgent or important or vital. No, these men — we prefer to call them ‘boys’ — are defending the women and children, the property and their livelihood … from a lone groundhog 300 yards away. The women were I-M-P-R-E-S-S-E-D.
Note: Don’t worry, the groundhog didn’t even have to duck.