A few summers ago, we had a little problem with our neighbors who insisted on alternately throwing loud, raucous parties and allowing their teenagers to throw loud, raucous parties that extended into the wee hours, sometimes during the middle of the week. Needless to say, the police department probably got sick of hearing from me.
Anyway, I was home alone on a Sunday night during yet another one of these parties. It was almost 11PM and the revelry next door was in full swing - loud music, red party cups, joints being passed around, and a bonfire. More than once I heard the lady of the house announce she was going to play lookout for the cops. I sighed, deciding to hold off calling the authorities since I was busy on the computer and wasn't yet being bothered by the noise.
A few minutes later, the fire department arrived.
And a few minutes after that my neighbor, lovely woman that she is, marched up to our property line and started hurling threats and cussing me out like a harridan fishwife on a meth bender. (which, come to think of it, might actually have been the case) Due to my history with late-night speed dial, she had assumed it was me who had ratted her out.
I went upstairs and sat on the edge of the bed. I made sure the S&W 642 was loaded and set it on the nightstand. I called Mike and said, "There is a lot of drunk, angry people next door and I'm alone. I have the gun. Please come home."
Nothing happened, of course, and the neighbors have since seen the error of their ways but honestly? to this day, if I saw hundreds of angry, yelling people approaching my doorstep, my last words would probably be,"Get me the rifle."