When I read about the liquor store break-in in Hanover County, Virginia, a visual image of my brother entered my mind. I pictured him running through the broken door of the store and along the aisles of glass bottles.
I said to myself, “Self, snap out of it!”
My brother may live in Hanover County, Virginia, but he was not the sneaky liquor store lawbreaker. He’s got better things to do.
For one, he keeps his grands a couple of days a week. I’m sure he’s too tired on those nights to consider leaving the comfort of his bed to do anything, much less break into a liquor store.
For two, my brother plays pickleball. There may be pickle-ballers who are thieves on the side, but I doubt it. They wouldn’t want to face jail time unless they were guaranteed the facility provided state-of-the-art pickleball courts.
For three, my brother has been busy, busy rehearsing for an annual variety show his church sponsors each year. After putting in all those hours, he wouldn’t have wanted to take a chance on getting arrested and missing the performance.
For four, my brother doesn’t match the suspect’s description. He is not one to wear a mask. He doesn’t have a black fur coat, and last I checked, he does not sport a bushy tail.
Mask? Fur coat? Bushy tail?
Exactly.
The liquor store in Hanover, Virginia, was ravaged by a raccoon—as in the nocturnal animal known for knocking over garbage cans, raiding gardens, and digging up lawns. Raccoons destroy roofs, gnaw on wires, and rip insulation.
I should know. Once upon a very, very long time ago, a family of five trash bandits took up residence inside our chimney. We turned into the driveway one night, and our car’s headlights caught a chubby raccoon scurrying up the lattice.
We turned a flashlight toward the roof, and there they were—Mom, Dad, and their three kits hanging over the side of the chimney. They were probably scouting out which houses they’d terrorize that night.
After the trespassers were caught and “re-homed,” that chimney came down.
Oh, raccoons look so cute and cuddly with their tiny, pointed ears, ringed tails, and bandit faces. But they make trouble wherever they land.
This one landed—literally—in a store that peddles alcohol. Animal Control Officer Samantha Martin said the raccoon “fell through one of the ceiling tiles and went on a full-blown rampage, drinking everything.”
Imagine the faces of the employees when they returned to work the day after Thanksgiving to discover an early morning Black Friday break-in had taken place. Imagine following a path of smashed-up bottles and finding a raccoon passed out, drunk on the bathroom floor.
This scenario brings a couple of questions to mind:
Was the crime premeditated?
Did the raccoon acquire his taste for scotch and whiskey before he burglarized the liquor store?
Could it be that the culprit didn’t “fall” through the tiles, but had been a long time working his way through the roof with a night on the town in his sights?
Who knows? But it’s interesting that he, like most inebriated individuals, knew to make his way to the toilet.
Of course, these questions will go unanswered unless the raccoon—who was released back into the wild after he sobered up—loots another liquor store.
Until then, the only thing I can say for certain is that the guilty, drunk intruder in Hanover County was not my brother.
VievesVine 