To catch a thief

Those people that are responsible for raising us leave an indelible mark.

My grandmother (Nonny) grew up in a family of five sisters and one brother. These people helped shape me and gave me my perspective on life. They were rural, moral, salt-of-the-earth people that held firm to their beliefs and spent an entire lifetime honing their keen sense of humor.

On one such moment in time, the lone brother J.W. was making a trip to the booming city of Amarillo, Texas, to stay with two of his sisters while his wife underwent some testing at a hospital there. One of the sisters was Nonny, and the other was Jo Anna.

For as long as I can remember, they were naggers. Not mean or ugly, these girls were just a little hard headed.

If something wasn't just the way they thought it should be, they would tell you about it over and over until you fixed it.

Every time I would see them, they would go on and on about my mustache, or my cap or even working too many hours. They would do it until it almost drove me crazy.

J.W. was a farmer/rancher and didn't come to town very often. He was about to leave to go to the hospital when they took notice of all the tools in his pickup — a saddle, some wrenches, a few bits, plow shanks, maybe a saw or two. The nagging started.

"J.W. you better lock that stuff up before you go to the hospital or someone will steal it. You ain't in Brice; this is the big city. People are just aching to take stuff like that."

This rambling carried on as he drove out of the driveway. I am sure after growing up with this bunch, he had learned to let it out faster than it could come in one ear.

As the two sisters pulled into the hospital, they seized an empty parking spot next to J.W.'s pickup. They checked the doors. Sure enough, he hadn't locked them. All that stuff was just waiting to be pilfered.

Being the crafty women they were, they decided to teach J.W. a lesson he wouldn't soon forget. They decided to take all those tools and put them in their trunk. It must have taken them 30 minutes to make the transfer, because some of that stuff was heavy. They managed to get every bit of it.

With sly smirks on their faces, they went into the hospital. They would giggle for no reason just waiting for him to learn his lesson about "locking things up."

About an hour later, one of the sisters looked out the hospital room window where the vehicles were in plain sight. J.W.'s pickup was gone.

"Why J.W., someone stole your pick-up," Nonny said as she gazed at the empty spot next to her car.

He casually strolled to the window and said, "No they didn't. I parked over there next to the fence."

There were only two people in that hospital room that truly understood the full impact of J.W.'s revelation. Their faces went white, and they looked like two little girls that were about to be sent to the principal's office.

Their car's trunk now harbored all the tools from some other country bumpkin's pickup; worse yet, he was gone.

How would they ever find him to give all that stuff back? What if he came back with the police, and they found all of that stuff in their car?

I laugh every time I think about that moment. They actually called the television station asking to put the event on the news so whomever they robbed could get his or her stuff back. The television station declined.

The next call went to the police. They explained the entire, humiliating event, relinquishing the goods to the authorities.

Bo Brock DVM, Dipl. ABVP

Nonny died on the last day of 2005. She was well over 90 years old and still just as feisty as the day she robbed that poor cowboy of all his tools. We miss her deeply.

Dr. Brock owns the Brock Veterinary Clinic in Lamesa, Texas.