Here is my lovely pre-holiday story about a door, a broken key and the cops:
It happened one Christmas, or rather two days before Christmas.
My husband was in Colorado.
I was just returning home from a family Christmas party. My door lock was stuck, with all my might I turned it. Then I had my dad try it. He cranked the key back and forth.
All to no avail.
Then it happened. The key snapped in half.
And so did my mood.
“Oh no, now what?” I said picturing a night on my parent’s sofa. Not that that was a bad thing, but I would much rather enjoy the comforts of home.
“Well,” my dad said, “You can stay the night with us.”
Then I heard the dog. He bellowed loudly from the back yard.
“Oh no, I forgot about Sam! I need to let him back in!”
My parents had no place to put him for the night. This was a problem. I said a quick prayer.
Then I went home with my parents. I opted to call a locksmith. I figured $50 was worth a good night’s sleep.
I decided to leave Max and Danny with their grandparents. My dad took me home to meet up with the locksmith.
We waited in my dad’s running truck for the locksmith to pull into the driveway.
He arrived seconds later and immediately went to work, before long we could get into the house.
The locksmith was right in the middle of telling me that there was nothing wrong with the lock and how easy it was to get in (what a relief for me!) when a police officer came to the door.
I opened it and said hello to the imposing man in the blue uniform.
“You live here?” he asked, a menacing tone in voice.
“Uh, yes,” I said, gulping. I figured he was going to tell me that neighbors had complained about the dog, that at this point was totally losing control in the back yard.
“Well we just got a report of a burglary in progress,” I’m sure my mouth dropped open.
“This has happened to me before,” said the locksmith, shaking his head.
“No, no, officer,” I said, “my key broke, see?” I showed him the small gold key that was split in two.
“You got some ID?” the cop asked.
I brandished my driver’s license. The officer glanced at and looked satisfied, he did another run on the address.
The officer then explained that our neighbor across the street reported the “crime” and that she said the locksmith’s son, who was supposed patiently waiting in his truck wearing a jolly Santa hat, was a lookout.
“Isn’t he in the truck?” the smithy was incredulous.
“No, but the dog is.” Said the cop.
Which is probably part of the reason why Sam was going nuts, he could smell another dog nearby.
“Well you are lucky you have neighbors that watch out for you,” said the locksmith, the officer shook his head in agreement.
The key master then left and took his dog and lookout with him.
The officer stayed and looked at my dad.
“You Corey?” he asked.
“No, I’m Ernie,” my dad answered.
“He’s my dad,” I said.
I wasn’t sure if the officer looked totally convinced. But he went back and got in his car nonetheless, I looked at the window after him and noticed at least three other police cars there.
“Back up!” I yelled to my dad. “They called back up!”
He laughed and stayed for a bit. But after awhile, when the officers still wouldn’t leave, we wondered what they could possibly be waiting for.
“I think they are waiting for you to leave,” I said to my dad.
“Maybe.” He shrugged.
Turns out we right because as soon as dad left the driveway, the cops left too.
I guess they were making sure my dad wasn’t holding me hostage or something.
Maybe they had itchy trigger fingers and were just waiting for something to go down.
Or maybe they were just talking over if they should eat at Dairy Queen or Runza.