We met on the fourth of July, five years ago. She was young at the time, and I fell in love with her big brown eyes and long lashes. Her black, silk-like fur put me in a daze from first sight. Her name was Samantha, Sammy for short. After a few years, I had taught her basic tricks, like sit, lie down, speak, roll over, and paw (which was a handshake). She also knew some more complicated tricks, like retrieving (balls, the morning newspaper, and a soda can), jumping over a stick, jumping into the lake off of a dock for distance, and many more.
After she had deftly retrieved a soda can, Sammy had started becoming extremely active. She would wag her tail vigorously, and leave a bruise on me if her tail hit me. She ran circles around the house, and when I let her outside she would do the same thing. At first I thought she was breaking the soda cans and drinking them, thus getting caffeine in her system. I thought this until one day after circling the house she bolted into the woods in my backyard. She had done this before, and when I called her she usually came back, but this time she didn’t.
I chased her, or rather followed the sound of rustling leaves and broken twigs that I thought was her. I shouted continually in a guttural tone trying to subjugate her, “SAMMY COME! “ My poor neighbors had to listen to these screams, because the eddies were extremely harsh that day. Still, she didn’t come. I headed towards the woods. As I walked through the brush, I could see where her matted down trail meandered to make a labyrinth. Suddenly, I saw her behind an old oak tree. She was sniffing in a covert knot hole in the tree. As I peered around the tree, I saw what she was rubbing her nose against. It was tattered pieces of a mailman’s carrying bag. I pulled out what was left of the bag and shuddered.
The bag was covered with blood. Also in the bag was a letter addressed to me. I panicked and tried to scream, but nothing came out. I was in shock and a bit leery. I grabbed Samantha by the collar and forced her home, as I took the evidence with me. I immediately ran inside to call the cops. An officer on duty answered with a stern voice: “Officer Nuttelman, can I assist you?” I didn’t know what to say at first, I was thwarted. Then I answered, “Yes, I, I…I…found a ripped, blood soaked mailman’s bag in the woods behind my house.”
“Continue, with the story sir.”
“There’s also a letter addressed to me.”
“Did you open the letter sir?”
“Not yet, it’s stained with blood.”
“Don’t open it, we’ll send an officer over who’s trained with this type of case.”
“Ok, I’ll be waiting.”
I waited for what seemed like forever with Sammy at my side. She sensed my fear, as she was trembling with me. The trained officer finally arrived with rubber gloves, a chemical kit, and his normal police gear. He took the letter and opened it carefully. Inside was a letter that was dated 5 years ago before my grandmother had died. It read: Dear Grandson, I know you are an honorable person. I am writing to you to tell you about a shady character in town. He works in the lumberyard with Grandpa. He is known to steal and be violent. Rumor has it, he uses his ax for more than cutting down trees. Please be careful when you are out taking Sammy for her diurnal walks. Good tidings. Love, Grandma. P.S. Don’t tell anyone about this letter. I might be putting you in danger telling you all this.
The officer’s mouth hung open as he read this letter. The officer told that case was analogous to a case that occurred about 5 years ago. The date was the same day marked on the letter. The case involved an old man who was murdered with an identified sharp object near a lumber yard. The killer was never found. Apparently, the old man was on his way to the post office to get a stamp to mail a letter. I pondered this a minute and then said, “Oh my gosh, that was the letter we have here written by my grandmother.” The policeman then told me a mailman was also slain with an identified object around the same time. I thought out loud, “This must be the mailman who owns this mailbag.” He apparently was trying to deliver this letter to me. My Grandmother was the last to die. She was also a victim to this shady killer.
The officer radioed his partner and several other crews. They raced to the lumberyard and circled the grounds. The officer had a sketch and matched the shady killer to the sketch. He was handcuffed and brought to the station. Looking back on this all now, I am glad he is sitting in a dirty, creepy, effluvia jail cell for life with no chance of emancipation. The death penalty wouldn’t allow the malefactor to suffer enough! As for Sammy, she still barks at every mailman that crosses her path, but she has a sympathetic tone to her bark. As for me, I’m glad the case is solved and the harsh winds haven’t blown anymore bloody mailbags into the woods!
After she had deftly retrieved a soda can, Sammy had started becoming extremely active. She would wag her tail vigorously, and leave a bruise on me if her tail hit me. She ran circles around the house, and when I let her outside she would do the same thing. At first I thought she was breaking the soda cans and drinking them, thus getting caffeine in her system. I thought this until one day after circling the house she bolted into the woods in my backyard. She had done this before, and when I called her she usually came back, but this time she didn’t.
I chased her, or rather followed the sound of rustling leaves and broken twigs that I thought was her. I shouted continually in a guttural tone trying to subjugate her, “SAMMY COME! “ My poor neighbors had to listen to these screams, because the eddies were extremely harsh that day. Still, she didn’t come. I headed towards the woods. As I walked through the brush, I could see where her matted down trail meandered to make a labyrinth. Suddenly, I saw her behind an old oak tree. She was sniffing in a covert knot hole in the tree. As I peered around the tree, I saw what she was rubbing her nose against. It was tattered pieces of a mailman’s carrying bag. I pulled out what was left of the bag and shuddered.
The bag was covered with blood. Also in the bag was a letter addressed to me. I panicked and tried to scream, but nothing came out. I was in shock and a bit leery. I grabbed Samantha by the collar and forced her home, as I took the evidence with me. I immediately ran inside to call the cops. An officer on duty answered with a stern voice: “Officer Nuttelman, can I assist you?” I didn’t know what to say at first, I was thwarted. Then I answered, “Yes, I, I…I…found a ripped, blood soaked mailman’s bag in the woods behind my house.”
“Continue, with the story sir.”
“There’s also a letter addressed to me.”
“Did you open the letter sir?”
“Not yet, it’s stained with blood.”
“Don’t open it, we’ll send an officer over who’s trained with this type of case.”
“Ok, I’ll be waiting.”
I waited for what seemed like forever with Sammy at my side. She sensed my fear, as she was trembling with me. The trained officer finally arrived with rubber gloves, a chemical kit, and his normal police gear. He took the letter and opened it carefully. Inside was a letter that was dated 5 years ago before my grandmother had died. It read: Dear Grandson, I know you are an honorable person. I am writing to you to tell you about a shady character in town. He works in the lumberyard with Grandpa. He is known to steal and be violent. Rumor has it, he uses his ax for more than cutting down trees. Please be careful when you are out taking Sammy for her diurnal walks. Good tidings. Love, Grandma. P.S. Don’t tell anyone about this letter. I might be putting you in danger telling you all this.
The officer’s mouth hung open as he read this letter. The officer told that case was analogous to a case that occurred about 5 years ago. The date was the same day marked on the letter. The case involved an old man who was murdered with an identified sharp object near a lumber yard. The killer was never found. Apparently, the old man was on his way to the post office to get a stamp to mail a letter. I pondered this a minute and then said, “Oh my gosh, that was the letter we have here written by my grandmother.” The policeman then told me a mailman was also slain with an identified object around the same time. I thought out loud, “This must be the mailman who owns this mailbag.” He apparently was trying to deliver this letter to me. My Grandmother was the last to die. She was also a victim to this shady killer.
The officer radioed his partner and several other crews. They raced to the lumberyard and circled the grounds. The officer had a sketch and matched the shady killer to the sketch. He was handcuffed and brought to the station. Looking back on this all now, I am glad he is sitting in a dirty, creepy, effluvia jail cell for life with no chance of emancipation. The death penalty wouldn’t allow the malefactor to suffer enough! As for Sammy, she still barks at every mailman that crosses her path, but she has a sympathetic tone to her bark. As for me, I’m glad the case is solved and the harsh winds haven’t blown anymore bloody mailbags into the woods!
