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January 2025
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Stolen Packages1/29/2025 I drove my van to the job site, with my trusty canine Nova Mae in the passenger seat. She sat upright as if to assure I was going the right way. “You’re a good navigator,” I said while reaching over to give her a rub on the head. Nova licked her lips to acknowledge my praise, and then continued vigilantly taking in all that was going on outside. The mood felt like the first spring day in a small town.
Two men leaned on the hood of a truck enjoying casual conversation at the gas pumps. A group of kids were playing soccer at the school playground while others were shooting hoops. A teenage boy and girl sat on the swings, making googley eyes with each other; I remember those days. Many people were walking; some alone, and some in pairs or groups of three. Nova paid extra attention to those walking dogs. I was supposed to be taping drywall for my brother Dan, but the weather in Ottumwa was way too nice to be working inside, especially in the first week of January. I opted to take Nova Mae for a little walk before I started working. I wore a light-weight black jacket and put on a stocking cap; I didn’t want to be fooled by a nice-looking day, only to discover it was colder than I anticipated. Finally, I fastened the retractable leash to Nova’s collar, and we set out. It was forty-seven degrees outside and the wind was calm. The blue sky had just enough scattered clouds to make it quite picturesque. The back of my dark clothing absorbed heat from the sunshine. I wanted to maintain a steady brisk pace to get some good cardio exercise, but that is nearly impossible while walking a dog. Nova Mae was like a boat anchor on the end of her leash. She had to stop and sniff every fire hydrant, tree trunk, bush, decorative rock, fence post, utility pole, sign post; any spot another dog had marked, or even thought about marking. In an Ottumwa, Iowa residential neighborhood, that’s a lot of stops! Without any breeze, and the additional energy used to drag a 57-pound resistant dog, I didn’t walk far before overheating. I removed my stocking cap, tucking it into my back pocket and then took off my jacket. I opened a couple of buttons to loosen my collar, allowing some excess heat to escape. Soon after adjusting my garments, Nova began turning small, fast circles in someone’s front yard. Finally, she was doing her business. Perhaps we could now maintain the pace I wanted, but not before cleaning up after my dog. One of the most disgusting things in the world (and possibly my greatest pet peeve) is people walking their dog and not cleaning up after them. RUDE! If you own a dog and it holds a business meeting in someone’s yard, on a boulevard, or any place other than your lawn, it is your moral and legal responsibility to pick up after your pet! And ‘not having anything’ with you, is no excuse. When walking a pet people know that their dog will most likely need to stop, that’s why we walk them. People should have been prepared. No excuses. Period! Rant over. Because I own a dog, I always have a dooty bag in my pocket; it’s a rare occasion when I don’t have one, and possibly a spare to give to someone who ‘forgot’ theirs. The bags are so flat no one can tell you’re even carrying one. As a matter of fact, I have often found them in my washing machine when removing my clean clothes. (Okay, the rant is really over this time.) I couldn’t find the bag in my back pocket, so I removed my stocking cap to dig deeper; still nothing. I checked my other back and both front pockets. I looked around the ground in case I had dropped it. I was horrified to discover I had nothing to clean up after my dog. “Oh my gosh,” I feared. “Have I become one of ‘those’ people?” Finally, desperately searching the pockets of my jacket and found a plastic Walmart shopping bag. Whew, crisis averted. Unfortunately, public trash receptacles are not generally found in residential neighborhoods, so I carried the goodie bag with me. When Nova and I returned to the van, we wanted to keep walking. I left my jacket and cap in the van, and reloaded my pockets with two new bags. I put the Walmart dooty bag under my wiper blade to keep it from blowing away until I could dispose of it properly. Nova and I then continued our walk. As we walked, a UPS delivery truck passed us. The driver stopped at one house, hopped from his side door, and left a package on the front porch. A few doors down, he stopped again, and then a third time about a block ahead of us. At the stop sign, the brown truck turned right and stopped once more. People must have been taking advantage of after-Christmas sales online. I watched the driver. He would set down his package, ring the bell, or knocking on the door, snap a photo of the package, and then quickly returning to his truck and take off down the street. I laughed. “I used to do that with my friends,” I told Nova. “We called the game Ding-Dong-Dash. We’d ring the bell, and then take off running, or hide in the bushes. When they came to the door, there was no one there! Sometimes we’d do it two or three times at the same house, but we never wasted time taking pictures; we dashed!” I laughed as fond memories we rekindled. “One time we played this trick on my neighbor. He was a grouchy man who often yelled from his front porch at kids playing in the street, ‘Stay out of my yard!’ We never even went into his yard because he was mean and we were all afraid of him! Anyway, one time, on a dare, my friend John and I, rang his bell and dashed, three times in a row. We should have left well enough alone, but we went back a fourth time. “This time, Old Man Olson was waiting with a wooden yard stick, around the corner under his car port. He caught us before we even turned around from the door. Olson chased us away, swinging his stick at us, and vowing there would be trouble if we ever returned! Although we escaped unscathed he knew who we were and he told our parents what we did. Old Man Olson warned our moms: ‘keep your darn kids out of my yard. Next time I’ll call the police and those boys will end up in a juvenile detention center, where they belong.’ Man, my mom was mad about that. I got chewed out pretty good, and took a few swats from a wooden spoon. But my friend John’s mom just said, ‘The old geezer deserved it.’” Nova and I shared a good laugh about that, and kept walking until we turned right at the stop sign. I noticed the house on the corner where the UPS truck stopped. The driver left a sizeable box by the front door; it looked like a box that a TV would come in. “That’s a package just waiting to be stolen,” I told Nova. “Package theft is out of control all over the country, even in small towns.” I recalled a Fed-Ex driver at my house telling me that he takes pictures of every package, to prove it was delivered. I think most delivery companies, and the post office are doing that now because the thefts are so rampant. I’m sure it was costing delivery companies a lot of money when people reported orders never being received. It’s a big problem and I don’t have a solution. I doubt that consumers are going to accept getting a note on the door, ‘We attempted to deliver your package while you were away,’ and instructing them to come to the office to claim the property. Since most people are working during the day, they can’t be home during regular delivery hours. It’s a big, and serious problem, but some people are finding creative ways to deal with the issue. I read a story about a guy who ordered a television. When it arrived, he took the new TV into his house. He packaged his old broken television in the same shipping container, neatly sealed the top, and set it back on his front porch. Sure enough, thieves came along and stole the package. The man captured a great video from his doorbell camera. He posted the video on social media, saying, “The thieves got what they deserved and I didn’t have to pay $25 to dispose the old television. I didn’t even have to carry it to the curb,” he wrote. “They offered free front door pick up.” I laughed when I saw his post. Unfortunately, thieves who are brazen enough to steal a package in broad day light, have no shame, no fear of the law, and can be vengeful. I’ve read other stories where thieves returned to a house where they thought they were stealing something valuable, but the homeowner turned the tables on them. The thieves would smash the used or worthless item, leaving a mess for the homeowner. Of course, the same security cam that caught the thief stealing a package, will capture the return. Unfortunately, the problem has become very widespread with little the police can do about it. As Nova and I continued walking, I thought of one solution that would help. Shop locally. When you buy from a local shop, you’re helping your local economy. And, if there is no package on your front step, the thieves will have nothing to steal. But I also understand that times have changed, and that’s not always possible. Nova Mae and I finally returned to the van after our walk, where I checked my steps monitor. “Wow. We walked over three-and-a-half miles! So much for a ‘little walk.’” Considering the time, I thought I should run to Walmart and get a couple of things I needed, before getting messy finishing drywall. As we drove west on Highway 34, the Walmart bag on under my windshield wiper was flapping in the wind. “I guess I forgot to throw that in the trash can at the job site,” I said. “I’ll drop it in the trash at Walmart.” I told Nova, “Hey, the bag will go back to where it came from!” Nova Mae and I shared a good laugh about that irony. I found a parking space close to the front doors. Just as I pulled into my space, the car parked in front of me backed out, so I pulled straight through to their vacated spot. “Yeah, Baby! Rock Star parking,” I boasted. I prefer not having to back out of a space when it’s avoidable in case someone is walking behind me in a blind spot. When I reached the front doors of the building, I remembered to stop at the trash can. Unfortunately, while trying to recall what all I needed from Walmart, I forgot the bag on my windshield, and I couldn’t remember if I locked my doors. I turned back toward the van, pressing the lock button on the key fob. The parking lights flashed, and the horn honked, so the doors were locked. I could see the bag was clearly secure under the wiper blade arm, and there was a trash can near the cart coral. “It’s not going anywhere,” I concluded. “I’ll toss it after I get done shopping.” When I went in the store I heard a dog barking. It was probably Nova reminding me that I forgot the dog in the car. I was walking back to the van, carrying two small bags, reminding myself to get rid of the Walmart bag under my wiper. But when I returned to my van, the bag was gone! I recalled Nova barking earlier. She doesn’t usually do that unless someone gets too close to the van; her space. I suppose some opportunistic punk saw a Walmart bag on a windshield in the Walmart parking lot and thought they were finding something special, and in my opinion, they did! “This package theft business is getting way out of control,” I told Nova. “Lord, how I would love to see their face when they open that bag of ill-gotten booty, or should I say, Ill-gotten dooty!” Nova and I laughed so hard I could barely speak. “And the best part of all,” I said while slapping my knee and trying to catch my breath, “We won’t be here if they try to return the stolen package!”
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