The Mystery of the Missing Mower

I love a good mystery – this has been true since I was introduced to Nancy Drew in elementary school.  Later, I became enamored with Sherlock Holmes, Agatha Christie, and Hercule Poirot, and a host of others.  I seriously doubt I would have made it as a detective, since I tend do discount many of the clues that they interpret as vital.  For instance, that dirt under your fingernails – how would I know that it contains rare mold spores only found in the Iberian Peninsula?  That scrap of paper?  It’s just a piece of trash that someone dropped, not a coded message meant for the eyes of the erstwhile villain.  And so it goes.  My deductive powers of reasoning have taken a somewhat mediocre view of the events surrounding me.

However, my curiosity was aroused when a friend who cares for our lawn (such as it is) while we are gone, called my husband to ask where he had left the lawn mower.  His answer, “In the shed, where I always leave it.”  Um, in fact, it wasn’t there, our friend reported.  It had disappeared without a trace.  Upon further investigation, it would seem that someone had entered our shed and stolen our lawn mower.  Great.  The home-owner’s association will be posting notices on our door stating that grass must be kept under 18 inches or it will result in a fine.  Protesters will be standing on the curb in front of our jungle  yard, pleading with passers-by to save the newest virgin rain forest.  It will be a PR nightmare. 

You may be surprised to find that I wasn’t the least bit bothered by the fact that our lawn mower had been heisted by some neighborhood hooligan.  In fact, I thought it was rather amusing, since that lawnmower was one of the biggest pieces of junk we have ever owned.  It required herculean strength just to start the engine, with an average of about fifty pulls on the starter string.  Just as you were about to collapse in exhaustion, it would sputter to life and crescendo to a deafening roar, thwarting your plans to go sit on the porch and massage your aching arm.  The vibration of the handle rattled your teeth in a frightening manner, making you wonder if dentures would be part of your mid-life crisis, and hours after you killed the mower by yanking the spark plug off the front of the engine, your hands continued to tingle and vibrate in a disturbing manner, as if being haunted by the mower-monster!

We decided that it was punishment enough that they stole the mower, and we laughed at the foolhardy and reckless theft that led the culprit to an even greater plight.  We fully expect the mower to be sitting back in our shed in a few days, with a note of apology, perhaps even a sympathy card.  In the meantime, we will be getting a goat…  :)