At 9:30 that morning it was anything but quiet in the usually placid town of Somewhere as two police cars and an emergency vehicle, sirens blaring, sped down Main Street. These were followed by several pickup trucks (a parade of the curious) all headed in the direction of the Serenity Haven clubhouse.
Sadly, this wasn’t the first time trouble had occurred at this venerable establishment. A couple of months ago a newcomer from the city had moved into one of the recently constructed retirement villas. Mabel, a very pleasant and well-liked resident, had unfortunately brought with her a misguided kindness that was creating consternation among the residents. She had substituted her love of feeding pigeons in a local city park to feeding five wild turkeys on the patio of her villa. This behavior resulted in some terrified residents being chased and a retiree being pecked by one of the birds. Since no one could identify the feathered culprit, all five turkeys (unfortunately) had to be dispatched.
When the furor died down, it was proposed that two environmental experts, well-known in the field of living with urban wildlife, be brought in to discuss with the residents how everyone could enjoy the unique experience of spotting wildlife such as deer, coyote and occasionally fox pass through their gardens. Harmony had at last returned to Serenity Haven. That is, until a few months later when sirens were heard blaring their way through the town of Somewhere.
As the crisis vehicles squealed to a stop at the Serenity Haven clubhouse, small groups of residents had gathered on the clubhouse deck and shouting could be heard from inside the open doors. It was evident that something shocking was taking place.
As the police officers climbed out of their vehicles, several residents motioned and pointed towards the interior of the clubhouse. The police wasted no time entering the building. Inside they were met with an extraordinary sight. Two male residents wrestling on the floor, one resident attempting to grab a microphone from the other. Several overturned chairs, plus a broken lamp, were scattered about.
Hurriedly, the police stepped in and hauled the two male residents to their feet, one still clutching the microphone. The two adversaries, breathing heavily, their faces red from exertion, cast baleful looks at one another.
Corporal Hank Marshall, the senior R.C.M.P. officer on the scene, turned to the man he was holding and asked, “Your name, please.”
“Jim,” the man replied.
“Alright Jim. Now, the first thing you can do is hand me the microphone.”
Sheepishly, Jim handed it over.
The officer looked across at the other resident. “And your name is…?”
“Paul,” the miscreant muttered.
“Thank you,” replied the officer. “I’m Hank Marshall and the other officer is Constable Jeff Hawkins. Now, since we’ve all introduced ourselves, I suggest we go over to that quiet corner where I see some comfortable chairs, and you can tell me what the ruckus is about.”
