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I was sitting at my desk when I heard a loud banging sound out to the north of the house.  Just past the end of the house was an old driveway that ended at a large stack of cut firewood.  The firewood was stacked there last fall in order to dry out.  The problem was the drive was about ten feet lower than the yard and during the spring it would fill with rain water causing a deep mud bog.  Of course any strangers would have not known that, as the drive was covered with gravel.

I heard lots of people yelling as I jumped up,heading to the front door.  As I reached the end of the front porch to my surprise, there were several pickup trucks with trailers stuck in the muddy driveway.  People were lined up along bank looking down at the stuck vehicles.  Whoever these people were, they were attempting to steal our firewood.  What they had already loaded up onto the trucks and trailers had cause the vehicles to sink even deeper into the mud.  Both trucks were up to their axles in mud and gravel.  Another truck had a winch on the front and a man was attempting to attach the cable to the front axle of the lead truck.  The man was fusing up a storm as he dug the axle clear.  I turned quickly back to the door and yelled for Kevin.

Kevin finally stuck his head out to see the commotion playing out at the end of our house.  When he saw that there was twenty or so men and women he stepped back into the house to return with a shotgun and a .45 pistol that he had tucked away in his belt.  Taking the shotgun, aiming it into the air, he fired one shot.  Everyone on the ground stopped what ever they were attempting to do and looked at the two of us.  “What the hell are you all doing?”  Kevin yelled.

A tall, bushing looking man stepped up on one of the trailers full of our firewood and shouted, “We saw this wood here and thought we would take it.”

Kevin walked around to the front of the house, “Come over here, I want to talk with you.”

I on the other hand, walked over towards the end of the drive where the last of our firewood was still in the stack.  There was a redheaded woman standing at the top of the bank.  I walked up beside her and pulled out my phone to take a photo.  I figured I might need proof if the police came and all of these people had left.

“Sorry about all of this,” the redhead said softly.  “You going to call the police?”

As I turned to answer her I felt my feet slip out from under me.  My butt hit the edge of the muddy bank and down I went, taking the red-headed woman with me.  We landed at the bottom of the bank covered in mud, gravel, clay and dried weeds left over from the winter.  Mud was in my hair, up my shirt, down my pants, in my shoes, and my cell phone was one big glob of mud.  I looked at the red-headed woman and she was in the same condition.  We both started laughing.

In fact I was laughing so hard, I woke myself up from my early morning dream.  Yes I had woke up earlier this morning to the sound of rain.  I thought how muddy the yard and fields would be around the house and that I would be fighting muddy dog paws all day.  The place had just dried up from all the snow melt.  So I had rolled back over and had fallen back to sleep.  The dream had continued but I am missing pieces.  I remember that the red-headed woman and I was traveling in an old pickup, I was driving in a horrible rain and I was blind.  Couldn’t see a thing and I had asked her to steer.

By the way, there is a side driveway, no bank and no firewood.  Where this information leaked from my brain this early morning I have no idea.  Makes me wonder what other kind of stories I have locked away in my subconscious.  In the mean time I keep writing them down.

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