Walk Right In, Sit Right Down...

On Saturday afternoon, I was in the basement doing laundry, when a shadow came over the double-glass sliding door that leads outside to the lake.

The figure stomped his feet and opened the door. At first take, I thought it was my brother. And then, I saw very plainly that it was not. I didn't know this guy from Adam. I yelled out a quick, "Hey!" and he said, "It's OK" and kept stumbling in through the doorway toward the washer-dryer/pantry/utility room. I followed him in, and he braced against the chest freezer, then sat down on a high-chair and started taking off his boots. This was a true WTF moment. It seemed apparent that this man was five sheets to the wind, and had been out on the lake, ice-fishing. Even so, I kept a close eye on him and any movements toward his pockets. "What the h--- are you doing in here? You need to leave, NOW!" I said. He kept replying in a slurred voice, "It's OK."

"It's very not OK. I don't know you and you just walked into my house. What's going on here? Have you been drinking? Are you ice-fishing with those guys out on the lake?"

"It's OK. Ben said he'll be here in a few hours." He took off his right boot.

"Ben? Ben who? Do you live on the lake? Are you from around here? I'm offering to give you a ride home, but you can't stay here. You need to put your boot back on and get out of here."

"It's OK," he repeats. "Call whoever you need to. Call Ben."

"The only Ben I know is Ben Linus on 'LOST,' Who are you? What's your name?" I asked. He gave a garbled answer into his hoodie sweatshirt. I wasn't leaning toward calling the police, as this guy just appeared to be drunk and mistaken in whose house he was in. That said, I was pretty close to calling the police. "You need to leave my house now, go out and sit in your truck, whatever." He started putting on his boot.

I was standing in the doorway to the utility room, readying to dive or make a grab at anything I could if something did happen in the sudden movement milieu. And then, I saw someone walking up into the boat launch and asked if this was someone he was fishing with.

"Do you know this guy? With a red hat?"

"It's OK," he said again. He opened the door, and walked outside. He and the man in the red hat talked, then the latter got in a black late-model Ford 250 and drove out. Situation diffused.

We have, for the longest time, not locked the doors very often, even when away. I guess it was just a general openness. We didn't even have curtains until a couple of years ago, like many people in Holland who claim it's because they "have nothing to hide." Add in that a barking 100-pound dog, and local knowledge that this is where the constable lives is enough to keep most anybody away, who has no business here. But with Sammy gone over a year ago, we don't have a dog anymore. With what happened in Bristol last year in the Petit home invasion, this is a wake-up call. Time to start locking the doors.

And I think we may get a puppy in the spring. A big breed.