There is a David Sedaris story that goes something like this:
“One summer my family was embroiled in a mystery. Someone was wiping his or her butt on our mahogany colored bathtowels and replacing the towels on the shelf, properly folded. At one point or other each of us was the victim and one of us was obviously the perpatrator.
My parents and older sisters were pretty easy to rule out. It was hard to imagine any of them being so immature, and, well, gross.
My grandmother also lived with us, as did my younger brother, who seemed to lack the dexterity to re-fold the towels.
My whole family played detective, trying to catch the culprit. We staked out the bathroom, watched for signs of a tender tush, and questioned one another. My mother noted that the person must be ‘one sick individual’ and my sister, the latest victim, responded ‘and he eats corn.'”
In the Wood household we are having our own mysterious summer, which, until today, did not involve poop.
Last Friday night at 1:20 am Taylor came into our bedroom and said “Dad, I need your help. N. (well known bully that lives near us) is outside and keeps knocking on the windows.” Chris got up, went outside and no one was around. He came back to bed. And we listened. Definite noise, more of a soft thud, but it sounded like it was INSIDE the house, not outside.
Chris got up and searched again. Outside and inside. No one.
More waiting, more listening, still an unexplainable noise.
Chris and I both get up. I shut every door in the house (all the closets, etc, because the noise was similar to a door gently thumping into a door frame.)
The noise stopped.
Then yesterday the kids were asleep and Chris let the dog out. He had been sleeping in Reagan’s room.
When Reagan got up and let him back in there was a paper clip on his ear. Not dangling, earring style, but on his ear to the paper clip’s hilt.
The dog was not thrilled about this.
How in the hell did a paper clip get on his ear? Chris was working around the house, both inside and out, so anyone coming into our yard would have to be awfully bold.
Taylor was asleep. Reagan had been sleeping, too, plus I can’t imagine either doing such a thing.
Not being a dog lover, I’m the most obvious suspect. But, really, it wasn’t me!
(And, yes, we were able to remove the paper clip and it hadn’t caused injury.)
Now today, my husband just emailed me this:
“I’m sitting in this conference and feel that my wallet is sort of poking my ass in an uncomfortable way. As I shift my weight in the chair I realize that it is not my wallet and wonder what it is. I reach my hand into my back pocket and pull the object out to discover that it is a hard, dried dog turd. How did a hard, dried dog turd get into my back pocket?”
I’m trying to figure this out. A series of random, coincidental weirdness? A poltergeist? Or is there a prankster in our midst?