Last night I was awaken at 2:30 a.m. by my husband flying across our bed, turning on lights, throwing his rifle on the bed and loading bullet after bullet after bullet into it.
**Pause for a side note**
I sleep with earplugs most of the time so I was a little out of sorts watching this.
"Someone's in our house!"
He leaves and I hear him yell "I'm armed and I'm coming downstairs! Get out of the house now!"
I called 911 and let them know that there was someone in our home and my husband has his gun. Here is our conversation...
"Your husband has a gun?"
"Yes! He's on his way downstairs!"
"Tell him NOT to go downstairs."
"He already has! We have six children! He's not just going to sit up here!"
Stern comes into the room and takes the phone. Soon (very soon) there are spotlights flashing through the trees outside and a police officer in his helmet, bullet-proof vest, and rifle complete with a spotlight is now standing on our entry. In the end there were eight officers in full gear scoping out our acreage. Four came in our home and lined up behind one another to secure the basement. It was like a freaking movie - and I hate those kind of movies! Just the sound of the CSI commercials scare me!
All was clear in the end. They patrolled the neighborhood for the night.
As we returned to bed I thought
"THIS WOULD NOT HAVE HAPPENED IF WE HADN'T LEFT SHASTA AT THE POUND!"
Yeah. He's home. I want to see those fools try to return now.
Let's see... on to other business... Ah yes...
The fate of our brave rooster.