Now and then sleep eludes me. Last night was one of those. I went to bed around 11:30 and finally gave up on sleeping over an hour later. I got up and came into my living room where my computer is located, sat down and decided to write for a while. I had a couple of ideas for blog posts, so I worked on them.
Somewhere around 2 AM I shut the computer off and settled down in my recliner. Sometimes I sleep better there than in bed. I was just starting to doze when I heard a sound that resembled a thud. I remember thinking that some damn fool drunk had run his car into the corner of the building beneath my open window. My nine pound early warning system, Lily the Yorkie, was peacefully snoozing in her kennel. I knew there was nothing in the hallway to worry about or she would have been loudly protecting her food dish. She can go from a sound asleep to standing stiff-legged barking like mad in about three seconds if anyone lingers outside my apartment door. I listened for a minute or two for any other sounds, heard nothing, and then fell asleep.
About 6 AM Lily wakes me. She is loudly guarding her food. Between barks I catch the sound of a sharp rapping on my door. I ask who is there and a voice identifies himself as a police officer. A look through the peephole confirms this. His face is familiar to me so I ask him in. He says they noticed my open window and wondered if I had heard any noises during the night. I describe what I heard. He wants to know if I heard anything that sounded like breaking glass and I reply that I did not. He is particularly interested in the time of night I heard the sound. He then explains to me that during the night someone broke into the bicycle shop beneath my apartment and stole a particularly expensive bike from the show window. He apologizes for waking me at such an early hour, asks me to call if I remember anything else, apologizes again and leaves.
This is the second time this summer that something has occurred here that involved the police. Earlier my neighbor's grandson had broken into the bar behind my building, had cut himself up in the process and had then raised all sorts of hell trying to get his drugged up self to his grandmother's apartment to hide. And now this. Even with a bar next door and another behind the building, it is a fairly quiet neighborhood. There is the usual Saturday night whooping and hollering from the younger set who, after a few beers, don't seem to have the sense that God gave a goose. There is an occasional fight but even those are few and far between.
My slightly paranoid, tin foil hat wearing self has to wonder if this might not be a sign of things to come.
Abandoned bridge and rail line at Sharples, Alberta
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