norm battles reptilian convicts

Escaped convicts! Gunplay! Lovable family pets! Dangerous, unpredictable wildlife! Cross-dressing suburbanites. This story has it all.

It was a kinder, gentler time. It was Spring 1978.

I was still humming songs from my late night rehearsal with the Sweet Adelines as I eased the Ford LTD station wagon into the driveway. I was tired. The house – our cozy two-story home tucked deep in the sleepy bedroom community of Circle Pines – was dark; Norm and the kids were all sound asleep. I could hear Twink barking. Her distinctive turtle bark. Drat.

A couple years ago the kids had rescued a puppy from a distressed home. We named her Twinkie or Twink in honor of the Hostess sponge cake treats she loved. She was a cute little puppy with huge ears and paws and she quickly grew into a large, difficult to manage dog. She had a run at the back of our property near the creek. Her greatest joy in life was lying in wait for the annual turtle migration.

Every year the turtles migrated between Golden Lake and the Rice Creek watershed area across our lawn. Twink’s job was to spot the intruders and alert the neighborhood with the turtle bark until the offender was removed via shovel and wheelbarrow and transported safely away. We always knew when a turtle was in the area because she kicked up quite a fuss, usually waking everyone in the neighborhood

I sighed. It was near midnight now, but I knew that Twink wouldn’t stop barking until the turtle was removed, so I went into the house and woke Norm. I told him I was going out back to check it out.

Norm sat bolt upright in bed. His sleep-clouded brain trying to make sense of what was happening. He shook his head to clear the cobwebs. Watching the television news only hours before he learned the disturbing news that a dangerous convict had escaped from the local prison. Mary didn’t know this she had just gone outside, alone. Maybe that wasn’t a turtle bark after all! Panicked, he ransacked the closet to find his Grandfather’s old revolver. He fumbled to pull on a pair of jeans found draped across the chair. Strangely, the jeans wouldn’t zip. There was no time to lose. So with gun in one hand and pants held together the other hand, Norm sprinted out the back door.

I looked up from the turtle cornered by Twink to see Norm running toward me across the back yard. There was something odd about his gait. And why was he holding himself like that? As he drew closer I could see he was carrying a pistol and wearing a grim expression. I could also see that he was wearing my jeans. My hero.

His damsel-in-distress was saved. The escaped convict (turtle) was captured. All that remained was to transport the turtle away from the dog. So amid Twink’s excited barking and my howls of laughter, Norm sent me back to the garage to retrieve the shovel and wheelbarrow since he had both hands occupied.