When I was about 8 years old, we lived in Laredo, Texas. My sisters and I were playing baseball in the back yard. We were using unripe limes from a lime tree back there because Bekkie had hit our only baseball into someone else’s back yard, and it was being guarded by 6 — yes, 6! — Rottweilers. Bekkie at that time tried to convince me to go get it, as we were tired of using the limes. It took her about a week to talk me into climbing over the fence to rescue our baseball. I had me a Sandlot moment.
The plan was Bekke was going distract the dogs from the top of the privacy fence, I was going to jump down, run across
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the yard, snatch the ball, run back to the fence, and in worst case scenario, jump up on their industrial sized grill. How could the plan go wrong? When you’re a child, that’s what you’re always thinking. But when in doubt, know your way out.
Problem was the minute I hit the ground, Bekkie started laughing from her perch on top of the fence, which actually drew the dogs out from under the house. She was laughing. But they didn’t care about her. They saw me. They visualized my chicken drumlettes running along the gate, stealing their ball. All plans were off, as I launched myself back over the gate. I accomplished my mission with no help at all. Bekkie had just laughed the whole time, and Bug had thought it was stupid plan before we ever did it, and wouldn’t help us. She couldn’t be bothered with the whole thing.
What really blew chunks is that a week later, the other next door neighbor‘s kid hopped our fence, took our one baseball, and played with it with impunity in his back yard, for all the world to see. So, yet again, I was recruited to take my ball back from the thief next door. Good times, good times.
— DJ
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