The dog is off the hook. The Wickedest Whippet has been found not guilty this time and although I should be relieved that she doesn’t have a penchant for pinching pink purses I am afraid I don’t feel very good at all.
Last night I had a caller who had picked up my purse from the bottom of a dried up pond near a footpath across the village from here. The land where it was found belongs to the same farmer who owns the fields at the back of my house.
I couldn’t help it but I put two and two together and probably made five. But it seems such a coincidence.
Perhaps I had better explain. The person who stole my purse had to have entered my house through the back door. My back door cannot be accessed from the front of the house. It is found in an enclosed back garden. The only way to acces the garden is ove the fence at the back, through the house itself or via the side door which leads out to the kitchen garden. On Tuesday last you would have had to encounter Tatu the gardner who was working on the veg patch right by the door. So the only way to reach the backdoor last Tuesday would have been over the fence at the bottom via the Farmer’s fields.
Problem is there are no footpaths around those fields so a casual passer-by is hardly likely to pass by and see my back door open and saunter in on the off chance. There is no way of seeing the back of my house at all from any road or other byway.
I can’t help it but I think the perpetrator is someone who was working the fields who could see into my back garden and note the door was open.
The reason why I feel so awful is that the only people working the field were the farmer and his sons.
I don’t want to believe it. But a complete stranger is so random especially whern there have been no other reported crimes of this nature according to the police. This was a total one off.
So all last night I mithered over this. All today I have been acutely aware of the ploughing going on and the revs from the tractor and all I seem to be able to do is get angry and frustrated. For they are far more likely NOT to have done anything at all but my mind just refuses to focus on anything else. It seems stuck on the fact that it must have been them.
Or maybe it is just me preferring it that way. Wanting it to be someone I know rather than a scary stranger poking their way into the sanctuary that is my home in the broad daylight while my boys say barley 10 feet away. I hate feeling so vulnerable.