April 29, 2018

White Dog led the Army in the rare "Song to the Sunday Delivery Guy." Usually it is a quick song and the box is left and the driver leaves but this song seemed to go on and then take a slightly different tone. White Dog and Pearly were agitated.

Steve had gone to the grocery so I ventured from the office to see what the issue was. My response was the same noise I make to the WDA when they are all acting up.

HEY!!!!

The delivery guy standing at the door looked up. He was holding what was our package. But he had opened it and was going through it. Pearl was nearly out of the window trying to stop him. I swiftly (as quickly as this old gal can get around) moved to the door, pushed my protectors back into the house, closed the door to the sun porch, and opened the front door.

"What is going on?" I asked.

"Um, well, I thought this package had been damaged," the guy stammered. "Let me have it." "Sure, here. I think it is OK."

I looked for a packing slip. There was none. I checked the top of the box.

The label indicated that it was NOT a package for us but rather, for the family across the street.

"Wait here," I demanded and reached through the house door to get a marker from the chest. I folded the top of the box closed and wrote: OPENED BY USPS on two sides and then handed it back.

"It is the blue house right there," I pointed. "I will watch you walk across and leave deliver it to them. And I will be sure they know what happened."

White Dog was still warning against trusting him. I watched until he finished the correct delivery to their doorstop and drove off in his car.

"Good job, White Dogs! If he had not already been so scared, I might have had to unleash the hounds on him," I laughed.

"Seriously momma, have dad talk to our neighbors later and encourage them to report what happened," Nilla suggested. "We have to look out for each other."