While it's true that you can take hard core city folk and physically transplant them into the country, but it takes a while to catch onto country living.
We closed on the house Wednesday, and on Thursday (last night) to clean up and organize the house for the renovation. Upon arriving, we noticed an abandoned van on the lot next door. We thought "That's weird." Then we saw that one of the french doors on the front of the house was standing open, with broken wood all around it.
Damn
Inside, many of the antiques we had purchased at the auction were gone. They left the paper and clothing, but they took our urns, old surveyor's gear, some wooden pulleys -- only stuff that a hard core antique hunter would be after. We thought that we had been "hit" by some people who were frustrated by the auction. Or maybe by some night-flying stars of Trash in the Attic.
So we called the cops just to get a report. Because the house is not insured, we couldn't file for any kind of help there, but we wanted the police to be around to understand what's happening.
While the police were there, Hamslice started screaming BLOODY MURDER behind the house. We all three took off running. (for the record, Hambone was the fastest, then me, then the cop) Hamslice had been bitten pretty badly by the neighbor's dog. And the cop was like "I can't leave here without doing a dog report." So now there are two reports being done on in one evening.
I said "Heck, while you're at it, come look at this van" and we did -- the van had no license plates on it, and when the cop ran the VIN, it came up as "never ever owned by anyone. No record."
So... less than a stellar beginning here, but it does feel like home. Or, at least what we're used to.
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