When you live in the deep woods, you expect to hear only the night sounds of animals and insects. When you live in the country, you expect to hear the same thing with an occasional airliner flying way off in the sky—more of a drone—and an occasional car or truck going past. What you do not expect happened out here in the country, literally in our front yard. A car chase! More correctly a truck chase! Not a slow moving chase as in the white Bronco slow chase that happened during the madness of arresting O. J. Simpson in 1994, rather a fast paced one that almost ended on the front porch of this old house. We were at home, late at night when I noticed through my blinds some blue flashing lights—lots of them—shades of a drug bust at the wrong residence flashed through my mind! I called Sheila and she came up the hall asking what was going on? We peeked out the door and saw a white truck stopped in the yard with a sheriff’s car behind it, blue lights flashing. More vehicles were scattered behind them all with flashing lights. I asked Sheila if she had forgotten to pay a parking ticket or something? “What!” she exclaimed. I put my gun in my pocket and cautiously opened the door before walking carefully outside to see what was going on. The pickup truck’s lights were still on—the deputy had reached in to turn the key off and place them in his pocket. “What in the world is happening here?” I asked. One deputy ignored me, and finally another told me they were trying to find the driver of the truck who had run off through either our backyard, or through the woods. Trying to ascertain what he had done, I was told that he wouldn’t stop when they made an attempt to get him to do so, and they suspected that he was drunk. That was a good suspicion, because he chose a bad driveway to pull into. He ran over some large rocks that border our driveway and that stopped his vehicle. Had he been able to go further, he would have driven into the aforementioned woods. Since he got out to run, there is a good chance that he wound up in my neighbor’s cow poop. To say that he got away would only be half accurate. He was seven miles from town, and the po-leece had his truck! They did not find him out here that night, and after a little while, I tired of looking at all the blue flashing lights, returned inside, and checked all of our locks, lest he be an ax murderer. We do watch a lot of American Justice and 48 Hours Hard Evidence, and we don’t take any chances. Our guns are loaded and pointed at the door. The High Sheriff promised he would scan our area, but the front yard is a little close!