Burglary

The shredded screen on the upper floor window

Three times in my life, I’ve experienced burglary.

The first was when I was living with a friend just north of Ypsilanti, Michigan. We shared a tri-level house in a working class neighborhood that featured winding streets, cul-de-sacs, and probably all of about five different floor plans among the hundred or so houses in the sub-division. Both Kevin and I were early in our careers and still living on hand-me-down furniture, using milk crates as shelf supports, and traveled or reveled quite a bit . . . we were not home much.

Kevin arrived home in the early evening and sensed that something was amiss. I don’t remember if it was a door ajar, movement by someone in the house, or some other tipoff; Kevin wisely yelled that he was home but walking out the door.

After a prudent amount of time, Kevin walked back into the house to discover that our stereo equipment was all lined up on the floor with cords carefully wrapped for transit. A screen had been pushed through an open window on the “middle” level – later judged by the police officer as the likely entry point. One stereo component and quite a lot of our minds’ peace were stolen.

The second time was in January 2008, here at the farm. A friend had recently lost his wife and, shortly thereafter, his administrative assistant lost her mother. I offered to drive him to the mother’s memorial service as it was so close to his wife’s funeral that I thought it the prudent option. He agreed.

While driving back from a northern suburb of Detroit, my cell phone clamored and the good folks at ADT informed me that my alarm system was showing either a malfunction or tamper. This was around 3 pm.

Arriving home, I saw that the storm door wasn’t closed tightly (unusual as I am a bit meticulous about my lockup rituals). I entered the house and saw my breath. The Blackdog greeted me but was a bit out of sorts. It wasn’t long before I understood why the house was cold – a back door had its window removed and a second door had been kicked open. The alarm panel was beeping and reported that there was a problem in zone six as of 10:18 that morning. Nothing was missing.

As best as I can ascertain, the perpetrator opened the screen door and knocked to see if anyone was home then removed the window from the rear door, attempted to reach in and open the door (the door was reinforced closed by a cross bar), then decided to climb through the opening. At this point, he (assumption – not trying to discriminate against what are probably very able female burglars out there) then kicked a locked door open between this back area and the kitchen to find a very annoyed Blackdog (while he loved everyone, he was protective of the house from strangers when I wasn’t home). Climbing out, the burglar knocked off part of the alarm apparatus, triggering the error message.

Nothing taken, about a $1,000 worth of repairs necessary, some sense of violation, relief that the pup was fine, and extreme irritation with ADT for waiting several hours to alert me that something was wrong. Door replaced with a solid steel version, repairs to trim and plaster damage and, a general upgrade of all doors and locks on the house.

Fast forward to this week. After a great weekend hosting friends in town for the Art Fair and laughing long and loudly, I settled into bed around midnight on Sunday evening. I remember drifting off to sleep smiling about the various antics and adventures of the weekend.

Something suddenly wasn’t right – an odd sense or sound or sight roused me. I asked myself why there were workmen on my roof and what were they doing? I stood, turned on a light and realized what my dreamy state registered as workmen, was in fact someone attempting to enter my bedroom through a second story window. At that time, I also heard a crashing noise downstairs. I managed to yell a loud and very creative string of expletives and threats – I heard voices outside and watched the intruder run from the window. Yes, I did grab my well-hidden gun and removed the trigger guard. I headed down the stairs and knew that I may have to defend myself with force. I crept on, switching on every light as I went as well as lighting up the air with new and very poignant strings of threats and expletives.

The scene downstairs betrayed several attempts on the part of the burglars (I’m fairly certain there were at least two) to enter the house. Exterior screens had been removed from first floor (fortunately locked) windows and a small port door into which fireplace wood is loaded from the outside was removed. Every motion sensing light outdoors was illuminated. No one, I’m thankful, was in the house and nothing was taken.

The 911 dispatcher was very efficient and promised a quick response from the state police – and she was accurate. Within 15 minutes, two troopers were walking the perimeter of the upper lot, guns drawn, flashlights searching – they pronounced the area clear and began the process of taking statements, dusting for finger prints, and giving advice to this homeowner on some small security upgrades I might consider (consider? Hell, I’m thinking razor wire). It was now about 3:30 am – I’m guessing that I was roused around 3:00 am.

The investigation lasted until nearly 5:00 am and some usable fingerprints and other evidence were found. I thanked the troopers, offered them coffee, and walked back into my somewhat less happy home.

Monday was a mix of anger and nausea. And through the week, I’ve realized that I’m now changed. I’m willing (though loathe) to use deadly force against those who threaten me and the sanctity of my home. I imagine if I had children, I would have reached this conclusion far sooner. I’m saddened as much as I’m emboldened by this realization. I will not be a victim.

Thank you for letting me vent. Oh, and lock your windows, even the ones on the upper floors.