It is dusk. True sundown was just a minute or so ago. My daughter snuck a small bowl of oyster crackers and a small dish of water out onto the deck, partly to have them handy and partly to gauge the Sandra situation.
Once Jerry has been nabbed—possibly in the towel my son is carrying—it will be a matter of swiftly shoving him into the Asshole Crow Condo, then holding the towel before the entrance until he calms the fuck down.
A little after 9pm (2100hrs, let’s be precise) we did our final equipment checks and went over the plan. I took point with the broom. My son (PRINCE) was behind me with two torches and a towel (JERRY-CATCHING DEVICE)
The plan included approach, objectives, condo setup, capture protocol, and retreat order. Also covered: IF MUM SCREAMS RETREAT, HAUL ASS FOR HOUSE, IF YOU GET WOUNDED KEEP GOING, IF YOU GET KILLED…WALK IT OFF.
That objective obtained, we spread out in search of Jerry. Assuming Jerry was wounded and roosting somewhere close by, we used the Jerry-Finding Also-Weapon Device (BROOM). Pleased to report it performed excellently all through the mission.
Friends, neighbors, gentlehobbits, my children and I scoured the dusk-drenched yard. We lifted branches. We carefully lifted ferns. We looked under the redbud. We looked in the hydrangea. We looked in the honeysuckle.
So tomorrow I will probably see Carl and Sandra while walking the dogs and I will find myself in the middle of the street on a Friday morning, with dogs strapped to my waist, yelling “FUCK YOU JERRY, YOU CAN TELL HIM I SAID SO” at…birds.
The Princess has retired, worn out by the excitement, and so have the dogs. My son is on Discord excitedly telling his friends all about LOOKING FOR JERRY. I get to put my pee-stained shoes in the wash.