However unlike a warm small furry dog, a metal mailbox is cold, cold, cold to carry. I picked him up, double-checked that our mail was still inside, then started walking home with said sneaky mailbox cuddled in my arms, like you might when you capture a wiggly dog. The little miscreant, pushed by more gusts of wind, slide downhill in the gutter along the side of the street until it was in front of our next-door neighbor’s house where the runaway fell on its side, popping up its little red flag in surrender.
I immediately went running out the front door to chase our mailbox, WITH OUR MAIL IN IT, down the street. Z-D, still listening to his conference call saw what had happened, found me downstairs, pointed outside, and mouthed the words “mailbox escaped.”
Like a sneaky pet dog out on an adventure. There was a gust of wind and just like that our extra large black metal mailbox went flying off its post– and started scampering down the street. He was on a conference call, listening, bored presumably, and staring out the window at the street. Zen-Den was working from home in a guest bedroom his upstairs office that overlooks the front yard and street.
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