Saturday, April 09, 2016

i'll take some locks with those bagels

I miss the Ed Sullivan Show -- and the Ted Mack Amateur Hour.

They were the only outlets for my very particular talents. Well, there was the Gong Show.

This morning, when I returned from walking Barco, I did my best Bobby May impression. While opening the front door, I had to juggle a bag of dog poop and another filled with wiener bits while trying to get one dog on a leash through the open door while simultaneously preventing a dog not on a leash from getting through the same door.

Actually, that performance was not just this morning. I usually provide four similar shows each day.

I feel a great accomplishment when I end up inside the house with the correct dog and without dropping my utilitarian bags. This morning, I was successful.

It was time for Barco to get his monthly treatment at the veterinarian to protect against ticks, fleas, and heart worm. Even if the calendar had not told me that, I could tell by the infestation of ticks that had taken up residence in Barco's coat the past two days.

So, I gathered him up along with his leash, and started to leave the house. Except, I couldn't. I could not find my ring of house keys.

Not to worry. I had only been in the kitchen and my bedroom. They had to be there. They weren't.

And they were not in my track suit that I was still wearing. But I had an idea where they might be -- the only other place they could be.

During the past two weeks, I have been distracted by dogs and bags while opening my front door. As a result, I have regularly left my keys outside hanging in the lock while I go inside. But not today. When I opened the door, there was the lock, but no keys.

If that was the only place my keys could be, it meant I was living one of my personal horror stories. An unknown person had walked off with all of the keys to the house.

I would say that thoughts of Mau Maus hacking me to pieces, in my bed, with machetes danced through my head. They didn't.

I am not that paranoid. But I was concerned that I no longer had control over the front door. In theory, other than me, only the woman who cleans my house and the pool guy have that authority.

When I moved into this house in 2014, I had the local locksmith change all of my  locks. Hence, I invited him back for a reprise. This time he brought his son and his grandson. I had obviously interrupted their Saturday.

Barco was impressed that I had magically caused a 9-year old to magically appear in my courtyard just for him. But the boy was there to work. I took Barco to my bedroom and started to close the door. When I saw them. My keys. They were in the house all along.

But I didn't stop the project. In the time I have lived here, several sets of keys have gone missing. It was a good time to start anew.

The three locksmiths spent most of the morning and afternoon switching out eight locks and making copies of keys. I have no idea what that would cost back in Salem. Here, it was $1,410 (Mx) -- or about $79 (US). Not bad for all of the hardware and the time.

Locks and walls merely create the illusion of security. I learned that last January when I watched a Mexican contractor get into my house and walk through the door in three minutes. At best, they are topes on the highway of life.

I almost feel as if I have just moved into a new house -- and life.

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