Somewhere along the way my retired Hubby picked up a new job, sheriff of the neighborhood. He didn’t ask for this job. It just kind of happened. Our neighbors always come to him when they need something or there’s some kind of security threat. Even though we had a real live deputy living in our neighborhood until recently, they called Hubby instead. A prowler on the west end of the subdivision? Call Hubby. Someone’s fallen and can’t get up? Call Hubby. Need someone to keep an eye on your house while you’re in Hilton Head? Call Hubby. It never fails. If there’s something going on, he gets pulled into the middle of it. I think it has something to do with his imposing size and background in law enforcement. He just looks like the strong, manly, save a damsel in distress kind of guy. (I like that about him.) Also, he’s just a nice guy. He can’t say no to a need for assistance, especially if it’s coming from a senior citizen. For weeks he mowed the yard of some neighbors while the wife was dying of cancer at home. I came home last week, and he was mowing the yard next door because the elderly owner just wasn’t feeling good. For a while we kind of joked about Hubby being a one man Neighborhood Watch, but now it seems pretty much official. I’m thinking of buying him a badge for Christmas.
Since becoming the subdivision sheriff he has broken up a large teenage party that got out of hand when the booze showed up, picked up three people off their floors, found a way into the house of a man suffering a stroke, investigated a stolen trailer, watched over two homes of vacationing neighbors and politely explained to a registered child molester that those shenanigans would not be tolerated in our neighborhood. He also maintains the pool of some neighbors who vacation often. I like that one, because they bring us an incredible chocolate cream cheese cake in return. And on occasion Hubby drives our 86-year-old neighbor to Friday night parties. This gentleman is going to go no matter what and he usually ends up rather tipsy, so Hubby is his DD. They have a regular schedule. He drops him off at 5:30pm and picks him up at 9:30pm every time. I can’t help but think of Otis from the Andy Griffith show whenever they pull up in the driveway.
The list of stuff goes on and on. He logged two calls this week. Tuesday night he went to investigate two prowlers near a home down the block. It turns out they were teenaged boys peeping into the windows of a group home for foster girls. They were getting an eyeful of boob until the Subdivision Sheriff showed up. Unfortunately, they responded with a really vulgar suggestion when he told them to get home. A foot chase ensued and ended on the front porch of the boys’ home. Mama took over from there.
He may be taking his duties a little too seriously, though. Yesterday evening I was fixing dinner when Hubby stuck his head in the back door and shouted that the little girl down the block was running away from home, suitcase in hand. Before I knew it he was off in his cruiser, um golf cart, to save the little damsel. Come to find out, she was walking to a neighbor’s house to play and had a large case of crayons under her arm. Well, not all emergencies are what they seem, I guess. Like that time he jumped out of the bushes at the suspicious car that kept driving around the neighborhood at 3am. Turns out, it was a new newspaper delivery person trying to learn the route. That’s the way it goes when protecting the public. Some cases are solid. Some are a bust. It’s a thankless job. The Sheriff is a reluctant sheriff, but he wears the yolk with pride. And we all sleep better at night knowing he’s protecting us..well, except for that newspaper lady.
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