• Rockin’ the Local Police Force

    by Donald K. Sanders

    I like to collect unique rocks and fossils. I’ve got rocks in my living room. I’ve got rocks next to the keyboard of my computer, and I’ve got rocks on the back porch, the shed and all over the yard — front and back.

    Sometimes, collecting rocks can be rather hazardous. I’ve fallen in the creek, gotten poison oak a million times, stepped on rattlesnakes and dropped rocks on my toe.

    Most of the time, I hike and look for fossils alone but recently my friend Steve joined me. Steve grew up around here, so he knows all the best places to find rocks that resemble some type of dead animal.

    Steve likes to look for rocks at the end of county road outside of town. There are a lot of really nice rocks out there, so we’ve rock hunted there several times in recent months. We both carry backpacks, with digging utensils, bottled water and a snack. We both also carry a cross-country ski pole as a walking stick. Mine is bamboo and his is steel. Both have leather handles with a strap to go around your wrist and a little pointy thing at the end.

    I know we’re looking pretty good as we mosey along, looking at this rock or that one. We must look like those explorer guys, Pike and Armstrong, who found the North Pole in Alaska. Sometimes I play like I’m Davey Crockett and Steve is my trusty sidekick Tonto, but I don’t tell Steve about that.

    So, we were walking the creek bed at the end of Road 32 one day. We’d been at it for about half an hour when it turned cold and started to rain. I don’t like the rain much because it leaves little bitty clean spots all over my face, and when I get home I look like a prune.

    After awhile Steve started whining about being wet and cold, so I reconnoitered that we’d better start back toward our trucks that were parked well over a quarter of a mile away. I was rubbing my forehead because I ran into a tree limb while looking at the rocks on the ground, when Steve says, “Hey there’s a bunch of cops over there.”

    Sure enough, there were about 20 cops looking around our trucks like they were going to steal something. My mind works like a well-oiled tractor, so I was thinking, “I better run.” I turned this way and that but every time I did, the rocks that I had in my coat pockets swung around and hit me where it really hurts. One of those cops looked like a track star, and I’m an old man carrying 100 pounds of rocks, so I decided not to run.

    I was getting scared, so I asked Steve, “What the hell did you do?” It looked like he’d parked in the middle of the road because all the cop cars were parked behind his truck. I looked at Steve and sure enough, he looked guilty of something.

    We figured that heading toward those cops would be the smart thing to do or they’d be poking holes in our tires. We yelled to get their attention because one of them looked like he was going to shoot my truck. I tried to quicken my pace but those darn rocks were heavy and I was recovering from a case of pneumonia that had kept me in bed a week before.

    With the rocks, the pneumonia and the hurrying, I looked like a sweaty crackhead with a pocket full of rocks. Just for a second, I thought about throwing those rocks at the cops and then take off running like the rabbit that I am. Then I thought that if Steve could hold them down, I could beat the hell out of them. Then I remembered what happened to people that threw rocks and hit a cop. I decided against that, because I knew they were after Steve and not me anyway.

    Steve is an officer of the law too, so I figured that he must have done something pretty bad. When we reached the cops I tried to act like I didn’t know him and it was just a coincidence that we were both looking for rocks in the same place. I decided to keep my mouth closed so I wouldn’t say something stupid.

    One cop asked if we had been hunting. I thought he meant rock hunting so I says, “yeah.” He told us that someone had called in and said that there were two guys out there angrily waving guns around. I said, “Not me, maybe Steve was.” At that, they searched Steve’s backpack and found all those rocks. By now it was raining pretty good and it was cold too.

    They checked our IDs and asked us a few questions. I started telling rock stories and right in the middle of my story, they jumped in their cars and sped off down the road. We tried to catch them but they were going too fast.

    Steve went to his house and I went to mine so we could check out our rocks where the other fella couldn’t lay claim to the other’s rocks. I washed off my rocks and started to think. That guy who called the cops must be really stupid. He can’t even tell a ski pole from a gun. He’s so dumb that he probably thought our rocks were hand grenades. I bet he’s ugly too and beats his kids. Geez, even I’m not that dumb.

    • I was waiting for a big bang at the end. Glad you and your friend Steve are okay. I collect rocks as well. They become talisman for my good fortune and the fortune of others. Love your stories Donald.

      • Thank you Madge, you are a person of unbelievably fine judgement and refined taste to recognize my superior talent. That’s why my brain is so large. When I was a kid, they called me the kid with the big head or the big headed kid. You’re pretty smart that’s why I always copy your posts. Oh yes, I agree with Madge!
        Oh will you nominate me for Citizen of the year? They don’t like it when I nominate myself. Neither does the Pulitzer and Nobel Prize people. At least I have been nominated, that’s something for a kid that had to eat out of garbage cans when he ran away from the nuns.After the cops caught me I told them I was afraid to go back because Sister Conchadda was going to cut off my thingy. At least she said so. She never did though and now I’m a very impotent man.

      I haven’t been able to get past that line yet.

      • Yes, thank God it was early morning and he was still stiff. After I stepped on him I captured him and put him in a pocket of my backpack and gave him to a friend that collects them for some thingy thing?? My friend Steve is a prison guard for CDC and he and I have almost identical wives (personality wise). I write about our wives in a col entitled (Trying to take my stuff) or something like that. ??
        Thanks for your note-glad to see you at iPinion.

    • Okay Donald K, put your safety helmet ang protective goggles on now, ‘cuase here comes a slew of typos-and they can be sharp! And now thta I’m an Ipinionite too, you ain’t getting rid of me until I die. Whcih couldbe any momnet now. yeah,yeah, we all could get hit by storm -powered tree branch today– but I pretty much have an experation date. And even thta can be changed if i accidently lie on my back thnr die of respitory failure. Yup, I’m still a spring-maybe autumn- chicken, but I can’t breathe if I’m not propped up and hooked up to my goddess of oxygen. Enough already about me, let’s write about you. Do epoeple already tell you that you must have rocks in your head? wouldn’t that be heavy and harmful to your neck?
      Have you ever mad “Rock Soup?’ it’s a modern derivative of the “Stone Soup” story of long ago. Are you in a rock band? Do you have episodes of “The Flintstones (sp?)looping on your TV? Please tellus you don’t sing “rockaby baby” lullabies to babys, or adults. Itt just sounds too scary.
      Enough about you and your rocky road, I ‘m being called to my high rise throne….
      cheers & charcoal,

      • You sound just like Steve’s and my wife. Can you believe that they call our stuff “junk” and tell us not to bring anymore junk home?? Why that’s peepossterous. You wouldn’t be related to Richard Speck of Chicago would you. Ha Ha.Welcome to iPinion. You know, you’re pretty cocky for a girl. I’m going to contact your family and see if they will beat you up for me. (kidding) A girl like you could control the world with your wit. Hope to hear from you again soon. Love the way you write, you and I spell the same way. Debra fixes mine up though but she won’t do it for everybody, I’m special. I ride the short bus.

      • Jesse

      • March 24, 2011 at 7:26 pm
      • Reply

      Fun story, but now I am not sure if my husband should go with you in the future. He is pretty sensible though, so maybe it would be a good idea. Jesse

      • Ifn he wonts to go a hikin wid me he gonna have ta slow down a bit-a big bit. I aint talkin no little bit-a big bit! Tell him to bring extra socks and some wading shoes so we can cross the creek to get over to the caves. Do you think he can carry me across so I don’t have to change my socks, i already turned them inside out once because the outside was dirty. It’s cold but only waste deep. If he can’t carry me he needs to bring a canoe for me. OK. Great, don’t forget to tell him and don’t be surprised if he comes home with a bag full of rocks that resemble some dead animal.

    Leave a Comment